In the Darkness as in the Light
by Marla Fair
Summary: A sequel to 'Sunshine with a Little Hurricane'. A burned out stagecoach lies on its side, the victim of an Indian raid. There's a name on the coach manifest that makes Joe Cartwright's heart stand still. Can it be that Elizabeth Carnaby is dead? And, as the man who robbed the coach seeks personal vengeance against Ben Cartwright's youngest son – can Joe himself survive?
1. Prologue

In the Darkness As In the Light

PROLOGUE

There was a sound.

A single match struck, followed by a flash of light.

Then, near darkness.

Then, light again as the man who held the match removed a glass chimney and touched it to the wick of the single oil lamp on the only table in the stolen room he occupied that was spare as his soul.

As the pure white wick caught – curling twisting, blackening like skin on a spit – something kindled in the man's piercing eyes; something akin to the delight a demon felt when gazing upon a soul it had brought to damnation.

For a moment the dark-haired man stood there, breathing in brimstone and relishing the taste and touch of it in his lungs. Then he slowly turned the thumbwheel, raising the wick and the light in the room to a point where he could read the newspaper he held in his hand. Kicking the table's single chair back with a mud-caked boot, he thrust the tails of his threadbare, well-worn, and much relied upon steel-gray long coat behind him and adjusted his low-slung gun on his hip before sitting down. The paper was a month old, but that didn't matter. The article in the social column on page ten of its second section, right next to the notices of the entire _sorry_ scope of life – births, engagements, and deaths – referred to an event six weeks away. That meant he had near two left to do what needed done.

Two.

His filthy fingers left their own sign as the man turned the paper over and over until the article was on top, folding it like a tall man dropped with a bullet to the brain. With a frown and a grimace he read it again and then released the paper, letting it waft to the battle-scarred surface of the table.

With a shake of his head, he snorted, "Idiots. Oughta be shot at sunrise, every one of them."

The man's pale gray eyes returned to the newspaper where they lingered on a name – _her_ name. Then, imperceptible to any but himself, they lost their hard edge as his scarred finger reached out to trace the letters.

A.U.R.O.R.A.

Well, maybe not that one.

Fleet Rowse blew out a sigh as he kicked back in the chair. Five years had passed since he'd left his sister Rory behind in Virginia City. Five years of bein' on the run, eatin' mud and drinkin' tequila in one stinkin' Mexican watering hole after another and managing to stay just one step ahead of the law. Weren't many banks to rob in good Ol' _Meh-he-co_ , but there were plenty of fat Patrons with fatter money belts and little or no brains. He'd made a decent enough livin', fleecin' them like their over-stuffed sheep and stringin' their naked carcasses up to dry. Fleet snorted, picked at his teeth, and spit.

Hell, the law should have thanked him. He'd left a line of their lily-white asses danglin' clean across the border should have kept any Gringo out.

Glancing again at the ragged and oft-read newspaper laying on the table, he leaned over and placed his hand on it. Using one dirt-caked fingernail, he ran it under every line, reading the information it contained there one last time.

"We have it on the best authority that a certain young woman, who is just recently returned to Virginia City after a five year bereavement, has come into a glorious fortune. The woman – whom we shall name at the end of this article – who was forced to abandon the home she loved for the irreconcilable loneliness it brought her following the death of her beloved husband, Matthew, had only recently returned to this fair city a new bride when she was contacted by a California attorney with the most disturbing but eventful news.

Unbeknownst to this young woman, who lost all of her family to the horror and utter degradation of an Indian raid when but a tender child, her late father had a distant uncle living in South Africa. The uncle, being an unfortunate man without children of his own, upon his death bequeathed the whole of his fortune – which rumor says runs in the tens of thousands of dollars – to the children of his beloved younger brother. Due to the savage nature of the attack upon the young woman's childhood home, there being nothing but a cinder left, she was cast upon the world alone and without succor. While this reporter knows that this gentle young woman was stricken to the heart to find out her last remaining relative had gone to a musty grave, there must have been a small spot of joy when the letter arrived informing her that, due her being the only member of the Rowse family still living, she was now a woman of some means.

And who is this young woman you ask? While the name is being withheld until the matter is settled, our intrepid reporters have done their work and discovered it is none other than Virginia City's own Aurora Clark, late Guthrie! And we have it – again on the best authority – that Mrs. Clark will soon be taking the stage to San Francisco to meet with her late uncle's lawyer, with the intent of returning sometime during the first weeks of November. Once back in the bosom of those who love her, she will proceed to a local financial establishment located somewhere between that gallant city and our own in order to deposit the money which is, for a person of her fair sex, far too great a burden to bear for long."

As Fleet finished, he stood. The busybody of a reporter had gotten everything wrong about his and Rory's past, but had done a damn _good_ job of predicting their future. The outlaw reached for the lamp's thumbwheel and rolled it again, turning the wick so high a dark column of smoke spiraled up into the air like a portent of doom. A second later he backhanded the lamp, spilling its contents over the newspaper and the powder-dry table beneath. He watched with satisfaction as both burst into flame and then crossed to the door and stepped out into the night even as cries of _'fire!_ ' filled the air of the sleepy Mexican village he was leaving behind.

It if he traveled fast and light, Virginia City was less than a week away. So was his sister.

So was the money.

As eldest, that fortune was _his._

Fleet laughed and spit again as he turned to watch the cheap hostel where he had rented a room go up in flames.

He was gonna have one hell of a time relieving his sister of her _burden_.


	2. Chapter 1

PART ONE

ONE

"You're youngest brother is going to do WHAT? Without my _PERMISSION?"_

Adam winced. He'd known it was coming. Thought he'd prepared himself.

He was wrong.

The sound wave from Pa's shout probably rang the steeple bells in Reno.

"Now, Pa," Adam began calmly, "Joe turned twenty-four last week and he doesn't _exactly_ need your permission to get a job."

Or for much of _anything_ for that matter.

"No son of mine is going to ride shotgun messenger on a stage! I didn't bring you up to be gunmen!" Pa was heading for his hat, which hung on the peg by the door. One arm was already in his coat, anticipating the early November chill in the air before stepping out into it.

"Pa, leave him be. It's only for a couple of weeks while he covers for Phil."

That sounded like whining. _Was_ he whining?

God. Joe had him whining.

His father pivoted on his heel. "Phil Anderson?"

Adam steeled himself. He nodded.

"That miscreant! I should have _known_ ," Pa growled. "I warned Joseph that one day the hijinks that young man is fond of would lead him into trouble."

Adam sighed. "Pa, they were twelve years old."

"That's no excuse for burning down a neighbor's chicken coop."

 _And_ cooking most of the chickens.

It had cost his brother a complete month's free time to work off the price of that meal.

"Look, Pa." Adam caught the older man's sleeve as he reached for the door latch. "Joe's been a man for some time now. He's old enough to make his own decisions – and mistakes – whether it be about a job _or_ a friend." He paused, swallowed, and then added, "You can't protect him forever."

His pa had always been a big man – bigger than him, not only in size but in presence. A mountain of a man, his mettle forged by fire to a steely edge. As Pa aged – as they _all_ aged – he'd seen that edge soften and nowhere so much as with Joe. If it had been _him_ who had killed a henhouse of chickens, a smile and a wink, a heartfelt apology, and offering to clean up fried chicken guts would have barely scratched the surface of 'sorry'.

At his words, the older man seemed to deflate. "Adam," his pa said softly as he drew his arm back out of his sleeve and hung his coat on the peg beside his hat, "what am I going to do with that boy?"

Boy.

Adam blew out a sigh. Since he was still a 'boy' at thirty-six there was little hope Joe would _ever_ be anything else.

"Let Joe do what he thinks is best. He's only doing what you taught him – his duty in helping out a friend. Phil's got a sick wife and no one to tend her, and the stage company told him that if he didn't show – or send a replacement – they'd fire him. Phil can't afford to lose the job."

"Are there no women in the town who can look after Mrs. Anderson?" his father asked gruffly as he crossed to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a brandy.

 _Never_ a good sign.

"Phil can't afford one."

"We could pay – "

"Joe tried. Phil won't take charity. He wants them to make their own way."

He watched _that_ effect his father.

"Well, I can't fault him for that," the older man admitted as he stopped the bottle. "Still, pride is a sin."

Adam checked his tongue. If 'pride' was a sin, then their whole family was damned to Hell!

He watched as his father dropped wearily into the big red chair. Pa took a sip and leaned back and closed his eyes, obviously relishing the warmth of the liquor as it coursed through him. Adam stared at him a moment and then went to join him, taking a seat on the settee.

For a moment neither of them said anything. Then his father remarked, "Do you remember the first time we feared your youngest brother was lost. I mean, _really_ lost?"

As in 'dead', Pa meant.

He nodded. "You're thinking of that day when we couldn't find Joe, when he ended up at the top of Eagle's Nest?"

His father nodded and then took another sip. "All night we hunted and most of the next day. Joe was only five. There was no way a child of that age should have been able to survive alone in the wilderness."

Adam felt a chill snake through him that had nothing to do with the November cold encroaching on the house. He'd been about eighteen at the time, all ready to go off to college and forge a new life. Joe's disappearance and subsequent rescue almost made him change his mind as he'd realized, at that moment, just how _much_ his father needed him here.

"I can still see him, Pa, all the way up at the top of the cliff, clinging on for dear life." He could hear Joe crying too.

As well as their father.

The older man had shed tears all the way up that near-vertical slope to his young son's side.

"When I took hold of him..." Ben drew in air and let it out slowly. "When I took hold of Joe he was trembling like an autumn leaf in a nor'easter. His clothes were torn and he was covered with dust, scratches, and blood. Those green eyes of his were wide as wagon wheels."

"Sure they were, Pa. He was terrified."

His father's dark gaze shot to his face. "I thought that too. At first."

Adam leaned forward. "What are you saying, Pa?"

"Yes, your brother was terrified, but there was something else in his eyes of his that terrified _me_ even more."

"What?"

"A relish of living on the edge." The older man downed the last of the brandy and then put the glass on the table by the chair. "I knew at that moment that life with your youngest brother would be lived one day at a time, experiencing again and again what I felt when I reached him at the top of that cliff."

They all joked about Joe's devil-may-care nature turning Pa's hair prematurely white.

He had more than his fair share of white hairs too.

"Joe's older now, Pa. He's...mellowed."

Pa's dark eyebrows shot up at that. "Mellowed? Your brother just signed on to ride shotgun on one of the most dangerous routes through the territory. You know as well as I do just how many times the stage to Sacramento has been robbed."

Adam wrinkled his nose. "That doesn't mean it will be _this_ time. Besides, Joe's only going as far as the exchange at Placerville before he turns back with a fresh load."

His father nodded. " _Only_ one hundred miles through the desert, with the possibility of outlaws hiding behind every rock." Those near-black eyes pinned him. "You know Red Pony and his renegades have been seen in the area of Webster's Station."

Yes, he knew about Red Pony. He also knew about his father. If there was even the remotest chance of something happening to one of them, he'd be planning what to do when it did.

Pa had told him something after that incident at Eagles Nest. They'd been pretty far out doing ranch work and it had come time for him to watch Joe. He'd left his little brother sleeping – just to do what was necessary – and when he returned, Joe was gone. He'd berated himself for weeks for shirking his responsibility, and even gone so far as to inflict his own punishment – abandoning his idea of schooling in the east. His pa found him outside one night, looking up at the stars. As they stood there, Pa did something that surprised him. Instead of quoting the Good Book, the older man quoted Shakespeare's _Midsummer's Night Dream_.

''For never anything can be amiss, when simpleness and duty tender it'. Eh, son?'

He'd remained silent a moment before answering. 'I'm not going Pa. I can't leave you with the burden of the ranch _and_ Little Joe –'

"So now your brother Joseph is a 'burden'?'

He frowned. 'You know what I mean."

'Do you know what _I_ mean, Adam?'

'Yes.'

That was it, just 'yes'.

His father anchored his hands in his pockets as he rocked on his feet. "I've felt it too, you know.'

'What?'

'The call of duty. I knew it the day you and I turned our backs on Boston and everything it held and struck out for the west.'

'You mean the duty to those you were leaving behind?'

The older man had shaken his head. "The duty to _ourselves_.'

'Pa...'

His father smiled. 'A great man named Daniel Webster said recently, 'A sense of duty pursues us ever. It is omnipresent, like the Deity. If we take to ourselves the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, duty performed or duty violated is still with us, for our happiness or our misery. If we say the darkness shall cover us, in the darkness as in the light our obligations are yet with us.'

'I know. That's why I _can't_ go –'

His father's grip was unexpected. 'Son, it's why you _have_ to. The Bible says it is for each man to bear his _own_ burden. You're not to bear mine – or your baby brother's.'

Adam remembered shrugging; remembered telling his father that Joe wasn't _really_ a burden. His father had given him one of those looks and said, deadpan.

'You could have fooled me.'

He'd sputtered. They'd both had a good laugh.

And he went to school.

Adam cleared his throat. "Is this a good time to quote Daniel Webster?" he asked his father, his full lips curling at the end.

Pa scowled. It wasn't fun to have your own words come back at you.

"You've raised all of us to have a strong sense of duty, Pa – to ourselves and to those we love. Joe's just trying to do what you've taught him, to take responsibility and be a man."

His father shook his head. "Your brother's intentions are always for the best, it's his judgment I question. Certainly something could have been done to help Phil other than Joseph putting his life at risk –"

Pa stopped as the door opened and the subject of their debate blew in with the wind. Joe'd obviously been to the barn and was chomping on one of the apples they kept there for the horses. When a glance at the somewhat full rack by the door showed him he would need two hands to hang his coat, he gripped the apple with his teeth. As he turned back into the room, he saw them staring at him. Joe's cheeks went as red as the Rall's Janet that popped out of his mouth and into his hand.

"Did I miss something?" he asked.

Adam winced. "Uh, no. Not much, at least. Pa and I were just discussing –"

It was ' _the'_ voice and it came down like a sailor lowering the boom.

"Your _new_ job."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe swallowed over more than the piece of apple stuck in his throat. " _My_ new job?" he squeaked as his green eyes shot accusatorily to Adam. "You know about my...job?"

"Don't blame your brother, young man. I asked a direct question and he answered it."

"A direct question?"

Pa was doing that 'thing' he did. Nodding his head up and down like a bull building up steam for a charge.

"Yes, a _direct_ question," the older man replied. "Unlike certain _other_ members of the family, your older brother doesn't dissemble and dissimulate when it comes to his activities."

Joe's brown brows popped up toward the curls dangling on his forehead. "Dis...what?"

"Lie," Adam translated, helpful as always.

"I didn't lie!" he declared. "I just...well...didn't mention it."

His father folded his arms. "And just when _were_ you going to mention it? From what Adam tells me, you leave tomorrow morning."

Joe reached into his coat and with two fingers drew a folded piece of paper out of his pocket. "I was gonna leave you a note, Pa." He blanched. "I didn't want to have you worry any longer than you –"

"You...were...going to...leave...a... _note?"_

He jumped on that last word. "You know how you are, Pa." Turing to his older brother, he said, "Tell him how he is, Adam."

His father pivoted. "Yes, Adam, tell me _how_ I am."

"As the Bard once said, 'the better part of valor is discretion'." Adam pursed his lips and one black brow popped up toward his thinning hairline as he raised a hand to his ear. "Hark! I distinctly hear one of the horses calling my name."

And before he or Pa could say another word, older brother used the better part of his valor and walked out the door.

 _Coward._

When Joe turned back to his father, the older man was staring at him – not glaring – _staring._ Glaring would have been easier to take. He could have glared back, flown off the handle, shouted something about not being trusted or treated like a man, and eventually stormed up the staircase to his room.

Yeah, he could handle glaring. _Staring._ Well, that was another matter.

There was a world of _hurt_ in that stare.

In the end he simply said, "I'm sorry, Pa."

His father sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. "So am I, son."

 _That_ was new.

"Really?" he asked. " _You're_ sorry?" Joe hesitated. Maybe it was a trick. "About what?" he asked guardedly.

"That you feel I have so little trust in you that you have to lie to me about what you're doing."

Joe frowned. "Ah, Pa, it's not that. I know you trust me. Well, some of the time. It's just..."

"Just _what?"_

"There's different _kinds_ of trust, Pa. I know you trust me to get my work done. You trust me with the horses and the men, and with the ladies, Pa. You taught me right. I'm _always_ a gentleman." He grinned. "I mean, I know you aren't worried I'll come home some night with a little Joe." He paused. "I mean a _little_ Little Joe."

"Thank Heaven for small favors," his father muttered.

"But you don't trust me to know what's best for me. It's like, well..."

"Like what?"

"Like I'm still a little kid who needs his hand held when he crosses the street." Joe grew serious. "I'm not a kid anymore, Pa."

His father was staring at him again, only _this_ stare was okay 'cause it was riding on the back of a twist to the lips that was almost a smile.

"How old are you, Joseph?"

He frowned at that. "Don't you know, Pa?"

"Pretend I don't."

He rolled his eyes. "If you say so." Joe silently counted up the toll. "Twenty-four years and seven days. Oh, and a few hours."

The older man sighed. "How?"

"How what?"

"How can you be that _old?_ It seems just yesterday that you were a toddler sitting on your mother's lap in the big blue chair by the fire." Pa's eyes got that faraway look in them. "The fire always caught in her hair and in your eyes. It was like God had buried gold in both."

Pa was 'waxing poetic' as Adam liked to say.

It was kind of embarrassing.

"Sure thing, Pa," he said as he removed his gun belt and laid it on the credenza, not knowing what else to say.

"Your mother used to chide me, you know, for treating her the same way."

No, he didn't know. He didn't know much about his mother at all.

"Like what way?"

"Let's take a seat by the fire, Joseph," the older man said, nodding toward it. "I can feel the cold creeping in."

It was true. He'd ridden home with the wind at his back and after taking time to stable Cochise for the night, he still felt chilled to the bone. Ever since that time five years back when he and Adam had been caught out in freak early snow during Elizabeth Carnaby's visit and almost frozen to death, he found he had less tolerance for the cold. He'd have to bundle up before he left tomorrow.

Joe glanced at his father who was leaning against the hearth, studying the flames.

 _If_ he got to leave tomorrow.

"It's funny," his father began, "often what attracts a man to a woman is their differences. One is slow, the other hasty. One, thoughtful, the other just a little bit reckless. One fiery, and the other cool enough to put out the flame. With your mother and I, well..."

"What, Pa?"

"We were very much alike."

Joe snorted. "You and Mama? Adam said my ma was a hellion! That's nothing like..." He halted at his father's look. "Well, Adam didn't exactly use _that_ word, Pa. He called her..." Joe thought hard. "Spirited."

The older man was silent a moment. Then he chuckled. "Adam was right. Your mother was more than spirited – she was a spitfire! Marie was never at a loss for an opinion, and crossing her was tantamount to taking your life in your hands."

"But you aren't like that, Pa."

This time _he_ snorted. "Really?"

Joe puzzled it over. His Pa _had_ mellowed with age. It wasn't too long ago he'd have taken a rifle and chased anyone who came onto the Ponderosa without permission into the next territory, threatening to kill 'em if they trespassed again. And before that, well, his oldest brother had told him how hard their pa had become after his first wife's death. Adam said Pa had sulked for years, brooding on his loss and making everyone around him miserable until Inger showed up.

Imagine that. Pa, wearin' his emotions on his sleeve just like his mama.

Just like him.

His father came over and sat on the table directly in front of the seat he had taken on the settee. He hung his hands between his knees before speaking. "I'll deny this if you ever bring it up in front of your brothers," Pa said, looking up without moving his head, "but of all my sons you are the _most_ like me." When Joe smiled, the older man held up a hand. "And that is why you worry me so."

Joe considered that before speaking. "Did you worry _your_ father?"

"Nearly into an early greave," the older man snorted as his eyes rolled up. "You think _this_ head is white!" After a moment, Pa reached out and placed a hand on his knee. "I knew it that day at Eagle's Nest."

"Knew what?"

His pa leaned back. "Joseph, do you know why I went to sea?"

He shrugged. "To see the world, I guess. For the adventure."

"Yes," he nodded, "there was that. But that wasn't the only reason – or the main one."

He leaned forward. This was something new.

"What was it then?"

"Why did you climb Eagle's Nest when you were afraid of heights?"

"You mean a few years back?" That episode was still a sore one with him. In trying to overcome a childhood fear and be taken as a man, he'd acted childish and nearly gotten both of them killed. He _really_ didn't want to talk about it.

"No, when you were five."

Joe relaxed. "Gosh, I don't know, Pa." He thought a moment. "I guess I just wanted to see what was up there."

"Even though you were afraid you might die?"

A chagrinned smiled curled his lips as he scratched at his sideburn. "I figured I wouldn't – at least until I looked down."

"It was exciting, wasn't it? Thrilling even. Cheating death?"

Joe looked at his pa with new eyes. "Are you saying that's why you went to sea?"

His father reached out to touch his chest, just over his heart. "I'm saying that's why _you_ agreed to ride shotgun messenger for Phil, and why you hid the fact from me. Because you feared I would forbid it and something in you just has to go – just has to take a look. Just _has_ to take that risk."

"Pa, I..."

He was right. It was like there was something inside him, pushing him to take on every challenge, forcing him to look danger in the eye, to face it, to laugh at it and come out on top – just to prove that he could.

Pa's hand fell to his own. The older man squeezed his fingers. "You can't beat death, Joe. No one can. No matter _how_ hard they try."

His father squeezed his fingers again and then turned round and sat on the settee beside him. For some time the two of them remained there, side by side, saying nothing, just staring into the fire. Then Joe did something he hadn't done since he was a young boy. He laid his head on his father's shoulder. As the older man's arm encircled him, Joe shifted closer, relishing the feeling of complete and total security.

For the moment it was enough.

Tomorrow, he'd go about findin' that danger.


	3. Chapter 2

TWO

"Where you going in such a gosh-darned hurry, little brother?"

Joe nearly lost his footing as Hoss caught him by the arm. He'd been stepping off the porch, headed for Cochise who was already saddled and waiting, when his big brother had appeared from out of nowhere rising up from the early morning mist like a big old white whale beaching itself.

"Hey!" he exclaimed. "What're you tryin' to do, knock me to the ground?"

"You wouldn't have to worry none about that if you had more meat on that skinny little hiney of your'n," the big man replied, adding a _crack!_ to that hiney with the flat of his mammoth hand for emphasis.

Joe's temper spiked. "Now what'd' you gotta go and do that for?" he growled as he rubbed the offended part. "I gotta board seat to sit me on for the next two weeks!"

Hoss' blue eyes crackled with laughter. "Consider it trainin', little brother." The big man paused. "So you really talked Pa into lettin' you run shotgun on the stage?"

Joe pouted. "What do you mean? I didn't have to _talk_ Pa into anything." He straightened his green corduroy coat and reclaimed his dignity. "I just told him I was goin'."

"Oh. You _told_ him, did you?"

He loved Hoss. He really did. But there were times when talking to him was like talking to your Ma.

"Yes, I _told_ him. Last night."

Hoss tipped back his ten gallon hat and shook his head. "Mm-mm! I'm _sure_ sorry I missed that. Must of been a better fireworks show than last Fourth of July."

"For your information," Joe said as he turned back to Cochise who was watching the interplay between the brothers with his usual stoic forbearance, "there weren't any fireworks – "

"No, those went off _before_ Joe got home."

Joe winced.

Adam.

What was _he_ doing up so gosh-darned early? And, matter-of-fact, what was Hoss?

"Are you two nursemaiding me?" he asked with a scowl.

"Far be it from me to play nursemaid to one who has left his childhood behind. My duty has been discharged – forever!" Adam declared, placing a hand over his heart and raising his face toward Heaven. "Yon nurse, bereft eternally of his churlish charge, is headed into yonder fair city to parlay with its merchant class, thence to repair back in time for Hop Sing's sumptuous evening repast."

Joe's nose wrinkled. "Huh?"

Adam rolled his eyes as he headed to the barn "Not everything has to do with you, Joe."

Hoss was snickering. "He sure got you there, Little Joe."

 _Little_ Joe.

Still, he could hardly argue 'size' with the mountain that was towering over him right now, blocking out the morning sun.

Putting one foot in the stirrup, Joe sprang onto his horse. Now that he was taller than Hoss, he felt more in control.

"So what are _you_ doin' up so early, if it ain't got to do with me?" he demanded.

Hoss snorted. "Well, ain't the boot on the other foot now? It's usually one of us askin' _you_ that. I'm here to tell you, little brother, that Adam's right. It ain't got _nothin'_ to do with you. Matter of fact, I just rode in." His brother twisted his lips and popped one eyebrow. "If you remember, I been at the sawmill pickin' up timber for repairin' the fence rail. So you see, Joe, you _ain't_ the center of the universe, no matter how much you like to think you are."

It was only then Joe noticed the trail-dust on his brother and how tired he looked.

"Sorry, Hoss."

The big man shook his head. "Don't I wish I had me a nickel for every time you've said that word since the Doc brought you kickin' and screamin' into the world." His brother walked over and placed a hand on the side of his saddle, near his leg. "You be careful, Little Joe. You hear?" Hoss glanced at the house and then back at him. "Words out that some of Red Pony's renegades have been seen along the route you're takin'."

Joe swallowed over just a little fear. He shrugged. "Pony's Indians aren't much interested in stages."

His brother's clear blue eyes pinned him. "Now, I'll admit there's truth in that. Them renegades ain't interested in bags of money or letters comin' through, but you know as well as I do, Joe, that what they _is_ interested in is worse than any robber or outlaw. Pony's type just want to see white men _dead_." Hoss paused and then he reached up and tapped him on the side of the face. "That curly head of hair you got there is gonna look mighty temptin'."

At that moment Adam came walking out of the stable, leading Scout. He eyed the two of them for a moment, but said only, "I'm ready to head into town, Joe. You want to ride together?"

For a second Joe balked. They'd had it planned all along, the two of them! Hoss would delay him just long enough for Adam to be ready so he could ride with him into town and see him off. For all he knew, Adam didn't _have_ any business in town and he was gonna wait an hour or so and then follow the stage all the way to the Placerville station, watching over him like that little kid who needed his hand held while walking across the street.

And you know what?

It was all right.

"Sure, Adam. Glad for the company."

Hoss snorted approval as he backed away from Cochise. "Now, you remember you got a job to do, little brother. No stoppin' by the saloon for a beer or gettin' distracted by some pretty girl in distress."

Joe tipped his hat as he turned Cochise' nose toward the road. "You got it, middle brother. See you in a couple of weeks."

Adam had mounted and as he came alongside him, Joe heard the door to the house open. He should have known. There was no way he could leave without the last member of the family being present.

Glancing back, he saw the tall figure of his father framed by the door. The older man took a step forward and raised his hand.

"God go with you, son!" he called.

Joe smiled as he turned back. God was with him, he knew that and he was grateful for it.

But he was even more grateful for the family the Man upstairs had given him.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

It was early afternoon when they rode into Virginia City. As it was a Monday, the growing town was up and rip-roaring to go, looking toward the new week ahead. Adam glanced at his kid brother who was leaning on the stage depot wall talking to his driver and grinned. In spite of Joe's promise to Hoss, he'd already had to steer the kid clear of at least a half-dozen pretty young things hanging on their mother's arms who had cocked their heads, batted their eyelashes, pursed their plumped lips, and sent him signals that they were interested.

The man in black sighed. As the philosopher's said, beauty _was_ a curse, no matter how you looked at it.

Looking at him now, though, you would never have known that Joe'd been anything but all business. He was standing shoulder to shoulder with Deke Jones, going over a map of their route. Jones was a wizened and widely experienced employee of the stage line, known for having successfully navigated more runs across the Sierra than his brother had dates. It gave him a little peace to know Deke was the one Joe would be riding shotgun messenger for. It would do the same for Pa. Deke was no kid. He was a well-qualified and cautious man of forty-five who knew the land like the back of his hand. Deke had a son just about Joe's age.

His brother was in good hands.

Joe was headed his way. "You ready to go?" Adam asked him.

"Soon as the passengers are aboard," his brother replied. "Deke says that'll be another half hour or so." Joe grinned and nodded toward the saloon. "You want to get a beer while we wait?"

"Before noon?" Adam clucked. "You know Pa doesn't think that's proper."

Joe snorted. "What Pa doesn't know won't hurt him, right?"

Adam waited until Joe met his gaze. "You mean like taking on a job to ride shotgun on a stage without telling Pa first? Or might you be thinking instead about not bothering to tell him that the stage you're riding on is carrying fifteen thousand dollars in gold bars in its Treasure Box?"

He dropped his voice when he said that last – after looking around to make sure they were alone.

Joe winced. "So, you found out about that, did you?"

"Yes, I found out about _that_."

Joe was chewing his lip. "How?"

Adam rolled his eyes. "I asked Deke what your cargo was." He stifled another sigh. "Do you know what the gold is for? He didn't say."

Joe nodded. "You remember Aurora Guthrie?"

God.

Dear God. No.

Were the fates just bent against his little brother?

"You don't mean _this_ is the stage that's transporting the Henshaw fortune the paper so carelessly reported she'd inherited?"

Joe moved in closer and dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "The paper printed that on purpose, Adam. Anyone reading it won't expect the money to be on the move now. That's why this run is so important. The paper ran another article a couple of days back, saying the stage with the money would be leaving first thing in the morning. It's part of the reason _we're_ taking off midday."

He was afraid to ask. "And the _other_ part of the reason?"

"Deke here don't like to get up any earlier than I do!" his brother laughed.

Adam nodded to Deke as he came alongside them. Deke Jones was a man who looked like he should have been six foot tall but too many miles spent under the blazing sun had shrunk him down to about five foot nine. His skin was baked a perpetual shade of brown and his blond hair bleached near white. A thin stubble of it coated his gaunt cheeks like snow. Deke's eyes were the blue of a desert sunset that tended – curiously – toward purple.

Deke took the hand he thrust out and shook it firmly. "What're you gonna give me for taking this rascal off your hands for a week or two, Adam?"

"My eternal gratitude for a portion of peace?" he responded with a wink.

"There is such a thing as it being 'too' quiet, you know?"

He was sure Deke did. Though the older man had made more successful trips than any other driver in the line, the wiry driver'd had one or two bad runs. One robbery left him stranded alone in the mountains for five days. There was nothing as quiet as that.

He glanced at his smiling brother.

Or as deadly.

Forcing a jovial air, the man in black replied, "Oh, I don't know – coming in after a long day's hard work, reading in silence, sitting by the fire with no war whoops to jar me out of my chair when Joe wins a game of checkers... I think I can live with that."

"Don't get too used to it, older brother," Joe said with a wink. "Two weeks will fly by so fast you won't even know I was gone."

Looking at his baby brother, standing there, full in the freshness of youth – so alive, _so_ vibrant – and thinking of all that could go wrong, Adam felt a little chill.

God, he hoped so.

Holding his hand out, he waited. Joe stared at it a minute and then with a broad grin took it and shook it.

"Best of luck, Joe," he said. "I know you'll make it the safest and smoothest run Deke's ever had."

For once, his little brother was at a loss for words. Finally he managed to stammer, "Th...thanks, Adam."

Adam held Joe's gaze, probably a second longer than he should have, and then turned and walked away.

There was nothing else left to do.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam was at the mercantile haggling over prices with the store-keep when he heard the stage pull out. He glanced at the clock above the counter and noted the time. It was six after three. Nothing special about it other than it was the middle of the afternoon and an unusual time for the stage to head out. Still, for some reason, a chill shivered through him. He calmed his nerves by telling himself that he was jumping at shadows. Still, something lingered in the back of his mind, some portent of trouble ahead...

Adam shook himself. What was wrong with him? He was acting like a superstitious school girl unsettled by saying 'he loves me not' as she pulled the last of the daisy petals.

No, that wasn't it.

He was acting like _Pa._

An hour later Adam was still in the mercantile and still wrangling with the owner over the price of nails. In the end he decided the man was just bored and arguing with him was his day's entertainment. He finally got some relief when Jim Edwards, the current foreman from the ranch one over from theirs, came in and said the store down the street was selling nails for two pennies on the dollar less than Ed and everyone should hurry over there.

Adam stayed put and got them for _three_ pennies on the dollar less.

As he triumphantly stepped out of the door, arms laden with his prize and several stout lads following behind carrying the rest of the supplies he'd come to town to get, the afternoon stage rolled in. He looked up and saw that it was half past five. Joe had been gone for two hours.

So why did it feel like two years?

"Joe's a grown man," Adam scolded himself. "He's ridden to other towns by himself plenty of times. You can't follow him everywhere."

Of course, that was precisely what he and Hoss had discussed him doing, following Joe and the stage – at a discreet distance, of course. The problem was, the run to Placerville by stage took about five days and Pa simply couldn't spare either one of them that long. With winter coming on there was too much for them to do. That, of course, had been another sore point about Joe taking the job. Somehow, they'd both ended up promising to do his work while he was gone.

That boy really should be a politician.

"Good day, Adam."

Nails in hand Adam turned toward the voice. It was Owen Saunders, one of the town's postal clerks. Owen had worked for them briefly about a year before. Last winter he and his wife had fallen on hard times and their farm had failed. Rather than leaving town, their pa had convinced Owen to stay and helped him get the job at the post office.

"Evening, Owen. How's Jennifer and your little one?"

"Fit as fiddles," Owen beamed. He was a new pa and there was no smile quite like that one. "I saw you coming out of the mercantile and thought I'd bring your mail over to you rather than lock it up for the night."

Adam placed his package on the wagon seat and nodded to the boys to begin loading the rest of the supplies. "That was thoughtful of you, Owen," he said, accepting the pile of envelopes. "Did these come in with the stage?"

Owen's brown head bobbed. "Say, was that Little Joe I saw riding out on the last stage with Deke?"

He nodded absentmindedly as he thumbed through the envelopes, stopping on one that was blue and had a distinct scent.

"That one must be for Joe," the postman said with a wink.

"You think?" Adam was about to check out the name on the envelope when the next one caught his eye. It was the confirmation of a contract from a company that Pa had been waiting for. "Pa will be happy to see this one," he said, wagging it.

"You didn't answer about Joe."

Adam glanced to the west. "Yes, that was Joe. He's filling in for Phil Anderson on the run to Placerville."

Owen frowned. "I hear Phil's wife's not doing to well. Jenny said she was mighty low."

"That's what Joe said," he responded while thumbing further.

"That was kind of Little Joe to offer to fill in for him, considering."

That last word stopped him. He looked up. "Considering what?"

Owen glanced at the five o'clock stage – which Adam just realized had come in at five- _thirty_. When the postman didn't say anything more, he looked.

There were a half dozen arrows sticking out of its wooden frame.

Shoving the stack of letters under the wagon seat, Adam started toward it.

"You won't find out anything there, Adam. Old Charlie, the driver, took himself right off to the saloon after he came in."

He turned back. "Was anyone hurt?"

"Not so's I heard. Charlie said they was given chase, but the Indians never showed themselves. Just shot a few arrows off and then disappeared."

"They didn't follow through with the attack?"

Owen shook his head.

"Where did this happen?"

"Outside of Moss, this side of Placerville."

That was quite a ways down the line. That meant Joe and the stage he was protecting were probably safe as they would soon be stopping for the night. Adam drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, releasing the fear that had clenched his chest like an iron fist.

"You say Charlie is in the saloon?"

"Said he was gonna drink until he was numb."

Adam scowled. "And how long ago was this?"

"Twenty, maybe thirty minutes."

 _More_ than time enough to for Old Charlie to accomplish his dubious goal.

"Thanks, Owen. I appreciate it. Say hello to Jenny for me, will you? You got a gem there."

Owen beamed.

Sometimes he wondered about the world and all its cruelty. It took so little to lift someone's spirits.

"Will do, Adam! You take care. And don't you worry any about Little Joe. If there's anyone can take care of himself, it's that youngest brother of yours."

Adam waved. Then he closed his eyes.

A little over two hours.

It had to be a record.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The man in black heard it, saw it, and smelled it before the bat wing doors swung open on the riot of life that was a Monday night at the Bucket of Blood saloon. It was one of the newer establishments in town and catered to a different crowd that the Reisen or International House. While you might find the occasional drifter in those finer houses and maybe a miscreant or two, the Bucket drew from the bottom of the barrel and was peopled by every unsavory sort that might drift in and out of a frontier town. There were hard-bitten miners, loggers, and other sorts of handymen on one side and – almost as if there was a line running down the center of the main room – cowhands, drovers, and cattle drivers on the other. In the middle was that sort of man who was a mystery, the drifter and his ilk, men who rolled into town with the tumbleweeds and were most often tossed out at the end of the day with the slop.

Adam's hazel eyes narrowed as the bartender, Sam, shouted a greeting. He formed a 'W' with three fingers indicating he'd like a whiskey and then plunged into the seething, roiling mob. Several of the saloon girls gave him a smile and a wave, looking to catch his eye. They liked waiting on the Cartwrights. In fact, the girls sometimes fought over who would tend to them. He liked to think that it was because they treated them with respect and not that it had anything to do with their money and his little brother's habit of throwing it around. One of them – a handsome blonde woman by the name of Nel – made it first to the bar to pick up his order, crowning herself queen of the day. He smiled at her as she gracefully wended her way through the boisterous throng, managing to avoid the filthy fingers clutching at her silk finery and the hands seeking to work their way underneath it. Nel was a tall woman with skin white as Parian marble. In some ways – though his father would have his hide if he ever mentioned it in his hearing – she reminded him of Inger.

Maybe that's why he shown her the town a time or two.

"Adam Cartwright." Nel named him as she sat the whiskey on the scarred surface of the table. "And what brings the scholar of the Ponderosa to such a den of stupidity?"

He chuckled. "Why, I came to see you, Nel."

Yes, she was much like Inger. Pretty as a summer's morn. Though Nel had a few years on him, her skin was petal-soft and her lips and cheeks, pale roses. She was tall – nearly as tall as him – and willowy as a sapling, with a deep husky voice and a warm laugh. Her eyes were the same deep green as his brother's, with just a touch of golden-brown like Joe's. And her hair, well, her hair was a deep blond, not pale like Inger's but rich like Marie's.

Adam ruminated for a moment on just _what_ it might mean that he was attracted to a woman who reminded him of two of his three mothers before asking her to sit down.

"Don't mind if I do," she said as she tossed her crimson skirts aside and took a seat. "So long as you're buying."

He nodded toward the bar. "Order what you like. I haven't eaten. Can I get you something?"

The grin she favored him with was a tired one. "That would be lovely."

"You look weary." Adam frowned. "Sorry. You're not supposed to say that to a woman."

She made a dismissive noise. "I _am_ tired. It's this sickness that's going around. Jimmy has it."

Jimmy was her son. The child of a love affair and her reason for turning to the life of a kept woman. Nel didn't service just anyone. Hers were long time affairs.

Often bad ones.

"Sorry to hear that. Do you have money for medicine?"

The blond woman leaned back. "You Cartwrights, always the good Samaritans." Her clear blue eyes studied him. "Yes, we have medicine. Thanks to an envelope with money I found stuffed under the door a few days back. Now, you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

He pursed his lips. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Of course, you don't."

Adam took a sip of his whiskey and then kicked back in his chair. "I'm looking for someone. Old Charlie, the stage driver. Have you seen him?"

She gestured with her head. "He's over there by the bar."

Adam looked. "Where? I don't see him at a table."

"That's because he's _under_ it."

"Oh."

Nel leaned in, pressing her elbows together and plumping her ample bust where it hung between them suspended in a nest of black lace and red silk. "You won't be getting anything out of him until morning." She smiled sweetly. "I could put you up for the night."

Adam raised his eyebrows. "I bet you could."

She chuckled and rolled her eyes. "Always the gentleman." With a hand she called one of the other girls over. After they'd ordered food, Nel turned back to him and asked, "What would you be wanting with that old lump, Charlie?"

Adam was still working his whiskey. "Did he say anything when he first came in, about the stage run?"

" _Did_ he?" She scoffed. "The old hermit was bragging and blowing about how he had defeated a whole tribe of Indians single-handed."

"The Indians who shot at the stage?"

She shrugged. "So he said, but then you can't believe the half of it." Nel watched him a moment. "Why do you care?"

Adam considered it. There was no reason to tell her, but then there was no reason _not_ to. "My little brother is riding shotgun on a portion of Deke Jone's run to Sacramento."

"The one that left this afternoon?" she asked.

There was something in the way she asked it that made the hackles stand up on the back of his neck. "Yes. Why?"

Nel's eyes went to the middle strata of the saloon, where the drifters and outlaws were seated. "There was a man in here late last night asking about that stage. Seemed he had a special interest in it."

Adam sat up. "Oh?"

The tall blond shivered. "I didn't like him."

He waited. When she wasn't forthcoming with any more information, he asked, "Was there a reason?"

"Nothing I could put my finger to. He..." She paused. "It was his eyes. They... The look out of them made my skin crawl."

"Precisely _what_ was he asking about the stage?"

She frowned. "He didn't exactly _ask_. He seemed to know a lot about it already. At first I thought he was a passenger, but when I questioned him, he told me 'no'. I asked him then if someone he knew was riding on it and he said they weren't, but someone _he_ knew was meeting it. I asked him if he was gonna meet them in Placerville." She paused, obviously troubled.

"Well? What did he say? _Was_ he going to meet them in Placerville?"

Nel's blue eyes fastened on his. In them was real fear.

"No. He said he was going to meet them in Hell."


	4. Chapter 3

THREE

Joe and Deke conferred and they came to a decision.

They decided to press on through the night.

There were only three passengers on the stage, a single man, and a husband and wife. Deke didn't tell him before they took off – because he'd been under strict orders not to – that the husband was actually one of the officials of the New York City bank where the money Aurora Guthrie had inherited was first deposited. Albert Norris had come west with it and planned to continue on to see it delivered safely to the modern and efficient bank at Sacramento. He was all for pushing through without stopping. Joe wondered at the banker bringing his city wife along for the ride. While Norris was a no nonsense type, she was as jittery as a filly swishing her tail near a beehive. Mrs. Liberty Norris had never been out West before and she'd spent the last two hours complaining loud enough for him and Deke to hear it about the weather and the wind, the dust, and the bumps and the jolts, even though she was inside the coach and _they_ were riding out in the fresh air.

The single man traveling with them had eyed Mrs. Norris as he answered the question about pushing on. He said he didn't care. If they wanted to ride through the night, he'd just prop his feet on one seat and his shoulders on the other, pull down his hat, and snore away. Joe grinned. The city woman hadn't liked that much. She'd demanded he not snore. The man obliged by saying he was a hat salesman and he'd chosen a hat with an especially thick brim just for the trip.

The salesman – Jerolin Carlisle – was as odd a duck as his name, which he said came from his Latin teaching father winning a coin toss the day he was born. Joe couldn't figure him out. Jeri, as he liked to be called, had arrived late and bought a ticket just as the stage was about to leave. Mr. Norris hadn't been too happy about a stranger riding with them. He and Deke had exchanged a glance, both feeling a bit uneasy too. Carlisle had no luggage to speak of, which was kind of odd for a salesman. When they questioned him, he said he was going to meet up with another rep and pick up a fresh supply of hats when they arrived in Placerville and take it on with him to California.

They couldn't really argue with that.

Joe cast a glance back and down at the coach window where Jeri's arm was anchored. There was nothing remarkable about the man. He had dark bushy hair and pale eyes, and a complexion burnt brown by traveling the West from town to town. His clothing was plain and well-worn – a somewhat long charcoal-gray Callahan frock coat and pants, with a white side button shirt and a canvas double-breasted vest. From the fashion choices he'd made, he could have been anything from the hat salesman he claimed to be to a doctor or a maybe even a preacher. His speech was cultured and he spoke with a southern accent.

When Mrs. Norris heard _that_ , she was sure they were traveling with a Confederate.

"What are you snickerin' at, boy?" Deke asked him.

Joe turned back. As he spoke he drew the collar of his heavy plaid coat up about his ears, relishing the warmth of the fur lining. "Just thinking about Mrs. Norris. You know, it makes a feller wonder why a man ever gets married "

"That so?" Deke shifted in the seat. For the most part he was letting the horses have their head. They knew the route as well as he did. Their pace was neither quick nor slow but steady, and with one or two stops for water and a bite to eat, would carry them well into the night before they were forced to stop and rest the horses. "All women ain't like Mrs. Norris."

Deke had been married, but his wife had been killed ten years or so back during one of the Indian raids. Joe studied his profile for a moment, cut as it was against a sky backlit by a dying sun. Deke wasn't a handsome man but he was what women would have called 'striking', with a sharp nose, a straight jaw, and thin lips pulled tight with determination. "If you don't mind my asking, how come you haven't remarried, Deke?"

The older man paused a moment. Then he smiled.

"Because there ain't no other woman like Mrs. Jones."

They fell into a companionable silence then. Joe's head lolled slightly beneath his tan hat as the miles rolled by. When it got so bad he felt his fingers slip on the sawed-off shotgun he held, he shook himself and looked at his companion.

"I sure could use some coffee."

"To keep you awake or to warm your toes?"

Joe laughed. "Both. I'll drink some and pour the rest in my boots."

Deke indicated the road ahead of them with a nod. "There's a ramshackle cabin about three miles on. We'll stop there. It ain't a way station, but the man who runs it welcomes travelers. Old Jess is always ready to provide a pot of coffee and a quick meal – for a price."

As he shifted to wake himself up, Joe grinned "Well, we got plenty of cash," he said.

The older man's eyes went to his feet, beneath which the pine Treasure Box was stowed. "Kind of like ridin' on nitro, if you know what I mean?" After a second, Deke turned toward him. "I'm glad for your company, Joe. You're a good man. But I can't say I'm glad you're along for this ride."

"Why not? Would you rather have someone else?"

Deke thought long and hard. Then he nodded.

Silence descended again.

A few minutes into it, Joe couldn't stand it. "Did I do something wrong? I mean, I'm sorry I almost fell asleep. I – "

"You got it wrong, Joe. It ain't nothin' you done."

He was confused. "Well, then, what _is_ it?"

Deke was silent a moment. "You ever heard of the _Gwylio Marwolaeth,_ Joe?"

That was a mouthful. "Can't say as I have. What is it?"

The older man leaned back in the driver's seat. "My father's mother – my _nain_ – she was Welsh. It's a belief held in the old country. It translates roughly to 'the death watch'."

Joe's agile brown brows met in the middle. "Oh?"

"There's this sound, some thinks it's made by an insect. It's sort of a ticking sound, like a clock. It's heard when someone's going to die." Deke paused. "It's kind of like the sound of the coach wheels as they go round and round. _Tick_ , tick. Tick, _tick_." He paused. "I heard it last night when I was camping."

Even as Joe shuddered, he heard his pa berating him for giving an ear to superstition. The modern age of science was upon them, Pa would say, and was doing away with such old wives' tales. He'd explain that such beliefs were nothing more than the ignorant mind trying to account for something it didn't or _couldn't_ understand. Still, Joe wondered. He and his brothers had spent long hours in the company of old cowhands on the trail; men who had delighted in scaring the living daylights out of Ben Cartwright's three young sons by regaling them with harrowing tales of their narrow escapes from Indian curses, skinwalkers, and such. Men, he respected. Men he knew didn't lie. Every culture had the same stories, Pa would say. The people who told them were to be respected, but their tales not believed.

He _really_ didn't want to believe Deke.

"You don't really believe that stuff, do you?" Joe asked.

Deke hesitated. He let out a long, low sigh. Then he grinned. "Got ya."

It took a second.

"Oh, for gosh sakes, Deke!" Joe exclaimed.

The older man chuckled as he picked up the reins and urged a little more speed out of the tired horses.

"Bet you ain't sleepy anymore."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

In the end, Adam decided to go home first rather than follow the stagecoach, though it took all the restraint he had within him not to do so. They really _were_ short-handed at the ranch due to the illness that was going around and the time of year and, what with Joe being gone, if he was going to go riding off, he felt he had better let his father know why.

Or at least a _part_ of why.

If he told Pa the whole truth there would be no stopping the older man from chasing down that stage and, while his little brother might forgive _him_ for showing up unexpectedly to thumb a ride _and_ add another gun, Pa showing up was another matter. It would embarrass his brother in front of Deke and the other men. Besides, the man in black told himself, the stagecoach should have stopped for the night by this time. He'd only be a few hours behind them if he started off at first light. They couldn't have made it more than twenty or twenty-five miles in the time they had been on the road. On horseback, he could cover that distance in half , if not less the time.

It was late when Adam rolled into the yard. He was hungry and wondered if Hop Sing had kept his supper hot. He'd intended to be home long before this, but had spent a couple of hours wandering around town making inquiries about Nel's unsettling drifter. It seemed the man had come into town about suppertime the night before and made his rounds of the saloons, sitting in on a game of poker here, dancing with a hostess there, and so on. He'd asked a lot of questions, specifically about the stage that was leaving town at three o'clock the next day. His story was that he'd had bad news and was making his mind up about a trip to California. He'd mentioned a sister to one of the girls who worked with Nel. Cat was sure he was the man who had bought a ticket for the stage at the last minute. Nel said, no, it hadn't been him.

Still, she couldn't swear it.

Of course, there was nothing sinister about asking for information on a departing stage or in buying a last minute ticket. Maybe the man really _did_ have family in California and had decided on a whim to pull up stakes and go there. Nel said he'd won a few rounds at the table, so he had money in hand for the ticket. When he'd asked what the man looked like both women had said he had thick dark hair and light eyes and wore a dark gray coat. Adam wondered, and not for the first time, if the women were talking about two different men. Cat had found the man she described exciting, while Nel seemed to think the one she saw was a demon from Hell.

Whatever and whoever he was, he needed to find out. His little brother's life might depend on it.

The best way to do that, of course, was to follow the stage and confront the man. Hopefully he would turn out to be some innocent clerk or sales rep who really _did_ have a sister in Sacramento.

As he hopped from the wagon and headed for the rail, reins in hand, Adam stopped. It was dark and he'd just noticed the pair of horses tied there. As he stood, staring at them, trying to place the light-colored one, the front door opened and his middle brother stepped out. Hoss glanced over his shoulder and then came out to meet him.

"What took you so long?" the big man asked, a hint of trouble in his tone.

"I was making some inquiries.," he answered as he wrapped the lines around the rail. "Who's here?"

"Roy."

He eyed the _two_ horses. "And?"

"An army man. Name of Eastwind." His brother's bright blue eyes narrowed as he frowned. "Adam, Little Joe's in trouble."

An army man? "Did he bring word of Red Pony? Is he planning an attack on the stage?" he asked, nearly breathless.

To his surprise, Hoss wrinkled his nose and sniffed. "Well, yes and no, but that ain't the worry."

Adam blinked. "No? Then what is?"

"Adam."

The black-haired man pivoted to find their father standing in the open doorway. The older man's face was grave. In fact, it looked as if nearly all the color had drained out of it. "Please come inside. You need to hear what Captain Eastwind has to say as it concerns you too."

Adam dropped the reins and followed his father and brother inside. Roy Coffee was standing just within the door on the Indian rug. The lawman nodded as he passed. Adam headed for the settee but was brought up short when he noticed a martial straight individual occupying the front edge of the red chair his father normally sat in. His stripes marked him as a captain. The man rose as he approached and held out his hand and it was only then that Adam noticed the color of his skin.

It wasn't white.

"Mister Cartwright," the soldier said as he shook his hand.

"Adam, this is Captain Nathaniel Eastwind. Captain, my eldest son, Adam."

He was trying not to stare. Adam considered himself an educated, well-rounded man, one not prone to the general prejudices of the West, so it shamed him just a bit to find himself dumbfounded that he was shaking the hand of a captain in the United States Army who was obviously a native. He'd heard, of course, of Indians fighting on the side of the Union Army in the conflict between the north and south, but those had been mostly eastern tribes.

Nathaniel Eastwind looked Paiute, or maybe Apache.

"Captain Eastwind is a scout out of Fort Henry, Adam," his father explained. "He's come with some rather disturbing news concerning the recent increase in Indian activity along the stage line."

Adam shot a glance at Hoss. "I thought you said this didn't have to do with Red Pony."

Hoss' lips were pursed. He had that look he got, like a little boy considering the next checker. "Listen to what Captain Eastwind has to say, Adam, and you'll understand."

"Before I begin," Eastwind said, turning to their father, "if might I have a glass of water, Mister Cartwright? It was a long dusty ride here."

As his father went to get the water, Adam took the opportunity to study their unexpected guest, who remained standing before the fire. Nathaniel Eastwind was obviously native though, if he had to guess, he would have said the captain was of mixed heritage with at least one parent – or more likely, a grandparent – being white. His skin was fairly light, though deepened by exposure to the sun. His hair was near-black, as would be expected, but in the fire's light there was a sheen to it that he might have called 'bronze'. Eastwind's eyes were an unusual light brown, like chocolate mixed with cream. He was a handsome man with strong features that included a wide and generous mouth which quirked from time to time at the ends as if something amused him.

Probably watching four white man try to figure him out.

The captain took the water his father offered him. He sipped at it, as if used to making due with little, and then sat the glass down on the table by the red chair. Locking his arms behind him, he began to speak by asking a question.

"Tell me, Adam Cartwright, what do you know of Red Pony?"

Red Pony again, even though this _wasn't_ about Red Pony.

"He's a renegade chief, in charge of a band of outlaw Indians – Paiute, Apache and a few others – who have burned and looted and killed, driving off our neighbors and friends," Adam replied, barely suppressing his anger. "They've been active on and off in the area for years and for some reason have started to conduct raids again."

"Red Pony isn't behind the raids," Eastwind said.

He glanced at his father. "What do you mean, Red Pony isn't behind the raids? He's been seen."

"His _men_ have been seen," the captain corrected him. "It is only a rumor that the chief was among them and that he was the one who sent the men out to commit these recent acts. He is not. He is at the Paiute camp north of here near the Bannock's land. Red Pony has not been...well." Eastwind paused. "At this moment the chief could not even sit a horse."

That seemed like very specific information for an army captain to have. "Do you mind if I ask how you know that for certain?"

"Because Captain Eastwind's just been with Red Pony!" Roy Coffee declared, speaking for the first time. "Ain't that right, Captain?"

Roy's admiration of the man was obvious. Again, Adam wondered just _who_ he was and why he was really here – and what it had to do with Joe.

"Just been with Red Pony? How?" Adam scoffed. "I would think a red man wearing the uniform of the white man's army would be the first one Red Pony's men would cut down."

For the first time, Nathaniel Eastwind smiled. "The answer is simple. I was not wearing this uniform."

"What? You mean you travel with Red Pony _as_ an Indian?"

"Well, of course, he does, Adam," Roy said, his tone laced with humor. 'Don't you know who the captain here is?"

He was so confused it felt like Joe was home again.

"No." He turned back to the enigma wrapped in blue and gold before him. "Just _who_ are you?"

"Adam," his father said, "Nathaniel Eastwind is Red Pony's son."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

They'd reached Jess' place and knocked on the door, rousing the old man with a grumble from the light sleep decades of living in a hostile land had taught him to practice. He'd come out ranting and raving about the lateness of the hour until he saw Deke and then, with a grin, had set to haggling with the driver over the price of a pot of coffee and some jerky and biscuits. Mrs. Norris had never seen jerky. She near fainted away when Deke handed her piece, declaring loud enough for the residents of San Francisco to hear that she was not about to eat dead meat. Joe'd scratched his head at that one.

Was there any other kind?

In the end they'd decided to let the passengers take a little rest before starting out again. It was a clear night with the stars singing overhead, so they'd have no trouble finding their way. There was some risk in traveling in the dark, but Deke felt it was outweighed by the danger of staying too long in any one place with the cargo they were toting – especially since its arrival and delivery had been the talk of the paper's social page for nigh onto six weeks now.

As Mr. Norris took to working in his ledger and Mrs. Norris fell into an uneasy sleep in Jess' late wife's rocking chair, Joe moved outside. True to his word, Jeri was sleeping in the coach and Deke was taking care of his animals. That left him alone with his thoughts. He moved a little ways off and sat on a stump by the rail fence. Watching Deke as he talked to the lead horse and stroked its brown muzzle, Joe was suddenly struck with a longing for home – for Cochise, for the ranch house, for the scent of Hop Sing's cooking and a night spent before the fire teasing and tormenting Adam and beating the chaps off Hoss at checkers. Much as he would deny it, bein' grown-up wasn't easy. Or at least, it wasn't easy for him. Adam had put on adulthood before he went to second grade, and Hoss, well, Hoss had always been so big that he was thought of as a man before he could cinch his own saddle. Him, well, he guessed in a way – and boy, did it hurt to admit it – in a way he was a pampered little rich boy. Maybe that was why he felt he had to keep pushing so hard to prove he _wasn't._ There'd always been someone there for him – someone to take care, someone to look out; someone to _pull_ him out of trouble. Joe snorted as he wiped a bit of moisture from his eye. Pa was worried about him having some kind of a death wish. It wasn't that.

He just knew there would always be someone there to catch him when he fell.

So, that was why he'd agreed to help Phil. Of course, it had been the right thing to do – there was a sickness in the area and Phil's wife had been hit hard. She had a new baby and wasn't very strong and Doc Martin had told his friend that his wife needed constant care. Phil couldn't afford a round-the-clock nurse and he had no family left. He and Phil had been fast friends when they were boys, along with Seth and a few others. They'd raised twelve-year-old hell and had a great time of it. His pa had never approved of Phil, calling him 'wild and undisciplined'. Joe grinned. Pa'd never forgiven Phil for the chicken coop fiasco.

He wondered what Pa would say if he knew cookin' those chickens _in_ the coop had been _his_ idea.

Anyhow, when Phil told him he couldn't make the run 'cause of Maggie's illness, he'd gotten it into his head that _he_ could. He was good with a rifle – probably one of the best in the area – though his strong suit was with the pistol slung on his hip. He felt confident that he could guard the stage as well as any man and, well, being out here – without his family in the mountainous area of the Sierra – was another step toward proving he was a man and that he could function, well, without that safety net that he knew he had.

After all, he _was_ twenty-four! A lot of men his age had their own spreads with a wife and children and all the responsibility that came with those three things. In a way, it was odd that none of them had married. He'd come closer than Hoss or Adam even though he was the youngest, and truth to tell he was always chasing the dream of finding a girl and settling down. But that was just it – it was a dream. In reality he feared he'd wake up from one day and find himself alone. Not alone because he chose it, like now, but alone because the woman he loved had died.

Just like his mama.

Maybe that was why he tended to like older women. Not only did they remind him of his ma a little – at least of the picture of her he had in his head that was based on the paintings his pa had – but they'd made it past thirty and had a firm hold on life. Weathering a storm made you stronger. Sure saplings could bend with the wind, but they were also easily uprooted. Gone in a breath of air. Like Amy.

Like Laura.

Joe sniffed again and stood up. Thrusting his hands into his pockets to warm them, he headed over to talk to Deke who had just finished with the horses and was heading back to the shack.

"Hey, Joe!" the older man called in greeting. "How come you aren't catchin' twenty winks or so?"

"I might ask you the same thing," Joe replied.

Deke shook his head. "I got _me_ someone ridin' shotgun. I can sleep on the seat." The older man reached out and poked his shoulder. "It's _you_ as gotta have your wits about you."

Joe looked out into the night. "How much farther do you intend to go before stopping?"

"There's a way station about every twenty or thirty miles. The first leg is the longest since the company figures you fattened up and rested at the main branch before leaving. I think we got us about ten more miles to the first one."

So they'd covered near twenty miles already.

Joe glanced at the stagecoach where it sat looking for all the world like the one that Eller girl's fairy godmother had magicked out of a pumpkin. He lowered his voice. "What do you make of Mister Carlisle?"

Deke shrugged. "Normally, I don't bother to put a make on the people I haul. They're just more cargo. But with what's in the Box..."

Joe shivered. He blew out a puff of breath vapor as he said, "Yeah. Me too."

Deke's hand went to his shoulder. "You're shakin', boy. You need to get inside and get warmed up and sleep for a bit." He looked up at the moon that was near full. "I figure we'll leave in an hour or so. Maybe ride two or three more hours. That should take us to the company station." The older man lifted his hand from his shoulder as he turned and looked out over the land in front of them and the range of hills surrounding it. "If we move at an even pace, the coach won't make too much noise. I don't like the fact that the moon's so high, but look over yonder."

Joe turned west. The sky was dark there, almost like a blight.

"Rain," he said. "Or snow."

"Yep. Maybe a mix of both. Good and bad for travel. It'll mask the moon and us, but it'll also make this hilly trail tricky tomorrow when it melts." Casting an experienced eye upward, Deke added, "I think we can make it to the station house before it hits."

"Do you think it will slow us down much?" Joe asked, still eying the western sky.

"Hard to say. Might add an extra day or two." The driver's voice softened. "You missin' home, boy?"

He hated to admit it, but at the moment his great adventure was beginning to look like one long, hard, frigidly cold, uncomfortably hot, wet and uncomfortable journey.

Joe grinned. "Just a little."

"I bet you got a big old bedstead with a fine feather tick right next to a toasty fire in that big ranch house of yours. And if I know Hop Sing, there's always a cup of somethin' hot waitin' beside it." At his look, Deke chuckled. "Good fortune ain't a buckin' bronco. You don't want to get thrown. It don't mean you're spoiled, Joe. Just blessed." The older man took another step in the direction of the shack. "Now, come on, I don't want no bleary-eyed boy ridin' beside me. I need a fully rested man."

Joe nodded and together, they returned to Jess' place.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

On a slight rise in the ground, not too far away and hidden behind a clump of scrubby fir trees, a pair of native men watched the two white men disappear into Old Man Jess' hovel. The eldest of the pair looked at the warrior at his side. He was young – no more than two and twenty as the white man tallied years – as well as reckless. Shadow Walker was known to take action first and consider the consequences of that action later. It was different for him. He too had been young once, but his father had named him 'Thinks Twice' because that was what he did even then – think, and think again so that there would _be_ no consequences.

"We should return to Many Kills and tell him what we have seen," the young warrior said, urging his mount to turn.

Thinks Twice sighed. He was never content, this one. He was consumed by a need to prove himself that burned hotter than the sun and that was why _his_ name was Shadow Walker. Always he walked the edge of the night, waiting for the dawn, eager for the next hunt – the next kill. That was why, though among the youngest of the warriors who had left the ailing Paiute chief to follow his son, Many Kills, Shadow Walker had been chosen for the honor of leading the raiding party against the white man's stage the following day.

He had counted the whites as they went into Jess' place. Four men and a woman. Three of the men were near his age; men old enough to have a son such as the one who sat beside him. The other was young as Shadow Walker. Thinks Twice sighed. He too had had a son of this age, but he had been sacrificed under this moon to the white man's guns.

Perhaps, if the raid went well, he would have another one.

Of course, Thinks Twice scoffed as he turned his pony's nose west and followed his companion silently into the hills, if all went as Shadow Walker desired, there would be _no one_ left alive.


	5. Chapter 4

FOUR

Adam glanced at the soldier beside him who was checking his cinch strap, making sure his saddle was secure. Nathaniel Eastwind had changed out of uniform and was dressed as a civilian now in an outfit that included a black slouch hat, a deep blue bib shirt, and Y-back braces. He had a black kerchief tied around his neck and wore brown canvas trousers. When Adam had jokingly asked him if he had a war bonnet hidden somewhere in his saddle bags as well as a full set of Indian regalia, Nathan – as the soldier told him to call him – had just smiled.

The two of them were getting ready to set off in pursuit of the stagecoach Joe was riding shotgun on. They were going to travel fast and light. Hoss and his father, as well as Roy Coffee and half a dozen other men – among them some very irate ranchers – would follow two hours behind. This would give the two of them enough time to assess the situation and ride back in order to plan some kind of strategy. Adam shivered. Logic and common sense lay at the heart of any successful line of attack.

How did one plan to deal a madman?

"I want one last word with your father, and then I'll be ready to ride," Nathan said and then, without a further word, walked to the ranch house and went inside. He'd dealt with military men over the years – many of them buying horses – but it still took some getting used to when it came to dealing with such a steel trap mind. It was either open waiting for trouble, or closed tight and dealing with it. Nathan was not much of a conversationalist.

Although he had talked more than enough the night before.

He'd been right in assuming that Nathan had white blood. His maternal grandmother had been a captive, taken by the Paiute as a substitute for a daughter they had lost to the white man's plague. _Her_ daughter had married Red Pony. She was one of several wives the chief had and, as his youngest, had been favored. When Nathan turned thirteen – an age at which he and his brothers were still going to school and sticking girls' pigtails in inkwells – the Indian scout, then called Bluecoat for his love of watching the long lines of soldiers crossing the land, had been deemed old enough to join in the raids on settlers' farms. In one such raid the family – which fought with honor the soldier said, showing a bit of his native heritage – was massacred. One son survived. The boy was taken by Red Pony and reared as his son.

The boy had been Fleet Rowse.

Even now, just the mention of the outlaw's name made Adam shudder.

Nathan explained that in time his father came to honor Rowse more than him, for the older man and the white boy were of a type. While Nathan questioned every destructive action the tribe took, Fleet was more than satisfied to ride at Red Pony's side and wallow in the blood of innocent men, women, and children. In time, though he was not disowned, Nathan ceased to be his father's son. His maternal grandfather, a wise old man who saw the future with dying eyes, told him on his deathbed to leave; that his destiny lay elsewhere.

It lay among the men his father and white brother sought to kill.

And so Bluecoat became Nathaniel Edward Eastwind. He sought out his grandmother's people and when they found he was the grandson of the child they had lost, they welcomed him. He knew he was fortunate. It could easily have gone the other way. They could have rejected him for being Indian. They did not, and as they were people of some substance, he was sent to the east to school. When the war between the states began, he saw it as his duty to fight for the Union, joining one of the eastern units of mixed Native tribes. After his service ended, Nathan decided to remain in the army. When he'd asked him why, his companion had smiled sadly.

'It is the only family I have,' he replied.

Adam leaned on Sport and looked toward the ranch house. After that the conversation had turned to the dire news Nathan brought to them. After the war he had requested a position on the frontier near the home of his childhood. His superiors agreed that he could do the most good here, and so he had returned to Nevada to live within the shadow of the life he had known – a part of it, and yet, not a part. He had served as a scout for many expeditions and was sometimes assigned to accompany the stagecoaches as they rolled across the land – if and when they carried army supplies, men, or money. Such had been the case a week and a half before when the stage had been attacked near Webster's Station. During the battle he had seen a lone figure watching from the top of a gorse-covered hill, observing the scene of carnage.

It had been his brother, Many Kills.

His _white_ brother.

Fleet Rowse.

Immediately after the raid ended, Nathan had ridden back to his unit and wired all the nearby forts and towns for information. From what information the army had supplied he believed the adopted son of Red Pony was in prison. It was then he discovered the truth. His white brother had escaped from the institution five years before. After killing several men, he'd gone to Virginia City where he kidnapped one of Ben Cartwright's sons and nearly caused the death of him and his brother. Nathan also learned from the telegrams he received from Sheriff Roy Coffee, that Fleet had recently made inquiries in town about his sister. Her name was Aurora Guthrie Clark – the same Aurora Guthrie Clark whom the newspapers reported had only recently inherited a vast fortune. Nathan told them that Aurora was headed for Placerville at this very moment, traveling on the eastbound stage. According to what word the army had, the stage she rode was bound to pass the one Joe was riding shotgun on around Webster's Station.

Instantly it had become clear what the outlaw's intentions were. Fleet Rowse was going to use the Indians to raid either one or both of the stages. He would take Aurora _and_ her fortune and kill anyone who got in his way.

Due to the Indian uprisings further north, Nathan said, there were few soldiers to spare. A patrol of half a dozen men had been ordered to ride from one the California posts to overtake Mrs. Clark's coach. The soldier was sure that the growing storm would slow them down. Seeing this, Nathan had sought and gained permission from his commander to ride to Virginia City to warn the authorities . He was to raise a posse and meet _both_ stages. Before they left, he had considered it his duty to come to the ranch. It seemed the Cartwright name had come up often in the reports. Joe had been mentioned, and so had he.

Apparently Rowse had been asking about them too.

At the end of the evening all of them had been shaken hands, determined to set out at first light. So far the storm had held off. If God was with them, they would reach the stagecoach Joe rode shotgun messenger on before it made it halfway to Placerville – before Webster's Station and in plenty of time to prepare for the planned attack.

Adam ran a hand over his face. Then again, this was _his_ little brother they were talking about. And though he loved Joe more deeply than his own life, he had to admit that it wasn't Francis that was his brother's middle name.

It was 'trouble'.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe hadn't slept a wink. For the whole hour he laid in the shack, listening to Old Jess' soft snoring, he'd heard a steady sound above it.

 _Tick_ -tick.

Tick- _tick._

Even though he figured the old man had a clock hidden somewhere or maybe it was Mr. Norris who had a timepiece in his pocket – after all bankers always carried gold watches – all he could think about was Deke's grandma's mouthful of Welsh death. When Deke came to call him he was wide-awake. Unfortunately, it was that kind of 'awake' that put a man on edge and made him jumpy.

The kind that caused him to make mistakes.

Fighting stiffness and feigning cheerfulness, Joe climbed up and onto the driver's seat as Mister Norris and his ever-complaining wife came out of the shack. He wondered idly if the woman ever did anything other than complain. Of course, after spending a little time talking to her this morning during breakfast he understood a her little better. The world was a small place. She'd known Adam's Boston grandmother and was a Massachusetts' girl herself. It wasn't so much that she was angry or put out or just plain bothersome.

She was scared.

He'd also discovered that she wasn't as old as he thought at first. While Mister Norris was a little younger than Pa and a little older than Deke, she looked like she was about Adam's age. She told him this was her first trip out West and from what she had seen so far, it would be her last. He'd smiled and promised her Sacramento was a lot more civilized and he thought she'd be happy there. She'd given him a smile then that had made him see what must have turned Mister Norris' head ten years before when they got married. She kind of reminded him of the picture of Inger his pa had on his desk. She had really light blond hair and pretty blue eyes. The only thing that marred her beauty was the worry lines on her face. They wrinkled her forehead and were plowed deeply in at the ends of her plump pink lips.

Joe smiled at the woman again as she approached the stage and watched as her husband helped her in. Mister Norris was in a foul mood. Not only had he balked at the long delay, but he wasn't happy that Jeri Carlisle had disappeared. Deke informed him that the salesman had gone to relieve himself and that he'd thought it was better to do it out of Mrs. Norris' sight.

That was the first time he'd heard the woman laugh.

A moment later Carlisle reappeared, pulling his overcoat closed and buttoning it. The man gave the two of them a friendly wave before boarding, and then – with a salute to Jess for his kindness – they were off once again.

Joe figured it had to be about one in the morning. With luck, they would pull into the station about dawn and in its relative safety take refuge from the approaching storm. Deke was still tossing coins as to whether it would be rain or snow. He was afraid it would be both. If old man winter decided to lay down a thick coating of ice that it would take the autumn sun hours to burn off, they might lose all the time they had gained. Deke said the way station was a nice one, built by some fancy dude who thought he could fleece the passengers coming through both ways. He'd set it up with a Spanish cook and a cantina and thought he would be king of the Sierra. They'd found him one day, nothing but bones, lost while out surveying his domain. After that it had passed into the hands of the stage line and they'd kept it pretty much as it was. There were several beds and a good place to cook and eat, and most of the time it was manned by an old Mexican Indian couple who had ties with the American Army dating back to President Polk's War. After his less than restful night, Joe was looking forward to the stop. They'd lay up there about half a day while the horses were changed out and they all got some rest, and then make another run, moving again under the cover of darkness. It was a hard push, but that way they'd make it to Placerville in record time. As Deke urged a little more speed out of the horses, Joe pivoted on the seat, taking a look behind. At the moment he had little fear any trouble would come from there. After all, they'd barely put two miles between them and the station. Still, something nagged at him. Something that left him uneasy. Maybe it was due to his being tired – to his heightened senses – or maybe it was due to the sound one that the coach wheels made as they rolled along.

Tick- _tick._

 _Tick_ -tick.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Hoss Cartwright yawned as he stepped out of the house, gear in hand for the early morning job he had to do in the barn. After a fitful night of sleep, the dawn had come and it found him in charge of the ranch. Their pa had insisted on joinin' up with the posse, so's he'd ridden to town with Roy Coffee the night before. Adam, who was stepping into his stirrup and mountin' Sport, was headin' out with that there army man. That left him to manage things at home.

He _sure_ wasn't happy about it.

They'd traded a few sharp words, him and Pa, not sayin' it, but tryin' to outdo each other for their worry for Little Joe. Adam loved Joe, he knew that, but for him and Pa there was somethin' that just went clean through and past that word when it came to the youngest Cartwright. One of his lady friends – a girl he'd courted a short time who was as outspoken as his little brother – had called him an 'old mother hen' one day when he'd been worryin' and fussin' about Joe not pullin' in yet for supper. 'You'd think you were his mother,' she'd chided.

That was 'cause, in a way, he was.

A memory stabbed the big man as he stood there, staring at his older brother sitting on Sport's back. Adam had just returned from college. Older brother had been heading into town and Little Joe'd wanted to go with him. Joe couldn't have been no more than ten. His big brother had been in a big hurry to join their pa and he left so fast he practically kicked dirt in Joe's face. What Adam didn't understand was that Joe didn't want to tag along to annoy him or to get into trouble in town with his friends. Joe'd missed him and wanted to be with him. He just didn't know how to say it. It weren't long after Ma's death when Adam left for the East and his goin' done cemented one fact in baby brother's active, agile mind.

People who went away didn't always come back.

Little Joe had thrust his lip out, brushed the dust off his shirt and pants, and then stomped toward the house and the door. The boy sure had been strong even then. He'd heard the door slammin' clear out in the barn. Later, when he went inside, he found Hop Sing callin' his brother's name.

 _Where you be, Little Joe? Supper ready, Little Joe! Hop Sing tell father when he return if you no come to table now!_

He'd sat down and ate his supper, but still Joe was a no-show. After the table had been cleared and Hop Sing had stopped shoutin' and started worryin', they both started huntin'. Finally, he found his little brother up in Adam's room, on older brother's bed, sobbin'. Pa weren't there, so he was the only one could comfort him and he had, taking Little Joe into his arms and holdin' him halfway through the night.

Hoss's lips twitched. There was another memory. It was of Marie this time, on a day when she'd been told Adam and his Pa were in danger and she should stay put until the search party found them.

You should' a seen how fast that little woman could pull on a pair of dungarees!

"Something funny, Hoss?" Adam asked from his perch on Sport's back.

Nathan Eastwind had just settled on his horse. He turned to him and said in that way Indians' did. "That is not a smile of amusement, but one of affection and concern."

The big man snorted. "Tell me, Captain Eastwind, are all of you natives mind readers, or does it just seem that way to us white folks?"

Absolutely deadpan the soldier responded, "Of course we read minds."

His blue eyes blinked. "Really? Can you tell me what I'm thinkin' right now?"

Adam had lowered his head and was shaking it. "Oh, for goodness sake..."

Nathan Eastwind was like most of the Indians he'd come to know while travelin' with his pa. There was a sense about him of being rooted to something so deep no white man could understand it – as if the land he walked, the wind and the water, were all a part of him. It wasn't exactly that Indians didn't know fear – any smart man did – but he had a notion that death only meant going into that deep place and so there wasn't nothin' there a man like Eastwind was scared of.

The soldier's eyes danced and his lip quirked. "You do not mean to remain behind."

Beside him, Adam's head came up.

Hoss sputtered. "Course, I'm stayin' put. I promised Pa –"

"You promised your father not to argue with him anymore." Nathan's white teeth flashed within the framework his deeply tanned face. "I believe your exact words were. 'It ain't no use arguin' with you, Pa. I'll just be about doin' what needs doin'.' Were they not?"

Adam was watching him, a frown on his face.

"I might of said that."

"Hoss, Pa needs you here to manage the ranch."

"Both you and I know, Adam, he don't need no such thing!" he exploded. "The ranch hands can handle it for a few days. Pa just don't want all three of us out there exposed to those renegade Indians. He's already half out of his mind with worry about Little Joe, and now he's got to throw you into the mix and I'm the one come up short!" Hoss drew a breath and held it, fighting his temper. "I'm sorry, Adam. I ain't gonna sit here at home nursin' cows while some dang renegades are out to kill my family!"

Nathan stared at him a moment and then opened his hand and held it out to Adam. Hoss frowned as his brother fished for and dropped a coin into it.

The soldier laughed at his face. "I told your older brother I could read minds. He bet I couldn't."

"That one didn't take much," Adam growled.

Nathan's smile faded as he looked from him to Hoss. "I would trade all I own to have brothers such as you. For many reasons, between Many Kills and me, there is nothing but hate."

Hoss pursed his lips. "I'm sorry about that, Captain," he said softly.

"Nathan, please."

The big man nodded. "Nathan. Now, you take care of that brother of mine you got there with you, you hear?"

Adam was looking at him. "So when are you intending on leaving, or aren't you going to tell me?"

"I'll let the posse get an hour's lead or so, and then head out," he said with a grim smile. "That way, while they watch your back, I can watch theirs."

"Pa's, you mean."

Hoss nodded. "Yeah."

After Little Joe, in their family, it was their Pa who seemed to have a knack for getting into trouble.

Adam nodded to him as he and Nathan pointed their horses' noses toward the road. Hoss watched for a moment and then he remembered something Pa had asked him.

"Say, Adam!"

His brother reined in his horse and looked back. "Yeah?"

"Pa asked if you got the mail when you were in town yesterday. Did you? He's lookin' for that contract."

Adam thought a moment. "Yes, I did. When I got home and saw Roy's horse, I completely forgot about it. It's under the wagon seat. The confirmation is there."

Hoss gave him a thumbs-up. "You take care!"

His older brother flashed one of those devil-may-care smiles he had – the kind that made him look like an older version of Joe – and then, with a salute, he and the army man were gone.

After finishin' his chores in the barn, Hoss came back outside, more than ready for the hot breakfast Hop Sing would be puttin' on the table. On the way he went to the wagon and fished yesterday's mail out from under the seat. Some of it had wedged behind one of the boards . He had to tug to get it out and tore the corner of a pretty pale blue envelope open in the process. When he got in the house, he tossed it along with the other mail on the credenza and went to eat. After helpin' Hop Sing clear the table, the big man was headin' back out when he noticed the blue envelope again. Curiosity won out and he crossed to the credenza and picked it up. He turned the letter over and saw that it was addressed to Little Joe. Liftin' if to his nose, the big man breathed in the perfume it was soaked in. As he did, he saw there was somethin' shiny in it. He shook it and a little silver paper ring fell out of the hole and onto his palm. As he eyed the trinket a phrase on the exposed part of the letter caught his attention.

'...be there soon', it said.

Now, he wasn't one for readin' his brother's mail, but with Joe bein' gone and all he figured it was his duty just to make sure Joe didn't miss anythin'. Hoss held the letter to his nose and smelled the perfume again. He sighed just a little as he did. Anythin' or any _one_ that was.

After all, what were big brothers for?

Crossing over to his father's desk, he located Pa's letter opener and slipped it into the torn envelope. It only took two motions and it was open. Placing the little paper ring in his shirt pocket, he began to read the letter.

The first paragraph or two were filled with the kind of chit-chat girls' was prone to, talkin' about where they'd been and tellin' all about the latest fashions and such things. As he continued to read, the writer mentioned havin' been away five years and lookin' forward to seein' Little Joe again. Hoss turned the paper over and looked for a signature. Just as he found it, the paragraph above it jumped out at him.

"No," he breathed.

' _So, you see, I'm all finished with finishing school now. They couldn't seem to find anything left to polish, so they let me go. I now know how to sit, stand, walk with a book on my head while keeping my back in the proper position, yawn like I'm bored but not gape, and bat my eyelashes with the best of them. The sole purpose of which is, of course, enticing young men and snagging the richest husband I can find. But you and I both know I've already got a rich and handsome young beau, and I'll be expecting him to meet the 5 o'clock stage from Sacramento on the seventh of November. Bring the ring with you. I'll be aboard!'_

It was signed with a kiss and the name, Bella Carnaby

Elizabeth Carnaby was headin' for the Ponderosa and she was on the same stage as Fleet Rowse's sister.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe stretched and ran a hand through his unruly curls, trying to tame them before he put his hat back on his head. Dawn had come and gone along with storm, which had proven less potent than Deke feared. It had laid down less than an inch of snow over the spare hills and road and that had already vanished as the land heated up. There was another one the horizon, though, and the stage driver had awakened him an hour or so early so they could check the stage over again and care for the horses and be ready to head out by the time the others had finished breakfast. They were looking at a long day. The next way station was twenty-three miles on and Deke wanted to make it by dark and then lay over like they had the last night before taking off again and traveling through the wee hours of the morning. Joe looked at the older man as they worked in tandem on getting the horse's tackle in place. Deke was edgy. His eyes kept moving from the horizon and the storm to the road ahead. When he'd asked him about it, the older man had shook his head and muttered something about it not being 'prudent' to speculate on what was going to happen – like saying it out loud might call it down on their heads. He hated to admit it, but he had a sense of it too. Like something hanging, waiting to happen.

Then again, that could have just been the storm. They could do funny things with a fellow's head.

When Deke was satisfied, it was a repeat of the day before with the passengers mounting the stage as the day pushed into afternoon and waving goodbye to the old Indian couple who had fed and given them a bed for the night. He'd had a hard time falling asleep at first and had wandered out on the porch. When he did, he heard voices coming from the little stable that was attached to the side of the main house where they'd sheltered the horses from the storm. Wandering over, he'd realized it was Deke, talking to the man who ran the way station. When he heard the name 'Red Pony' his ears perked up. It seemed some of the earlier reports of the renegades actions in the area had come from the old Indian, whose name was Jacob. Some of Red Pony's men had been spotted, Jacob said, about ten miles down the road just before the Strawberry Valley stop. That was where they were aiming to halt for the day. Deke had decided to pass by Yank's station without stopping. After that, there were still some forty-five miles to go to Placerville.

They'd be about halfway there.

Joe sat now, wide awake, his sawed-off double-barrel shotgun clutched in his fingers as he scanned the land both before and after the coach. It didn't help that the pass they were going through was thick with pine trees and other ground vegetation, providing ample places for someone to hide. They'd warned Mister and Mrs. Norris and Jeri Carlisle that they were going through a tricky bit of country. The banker had surprised him by pulling out a fancy pearl-handled pistol with silver fixings, saying he could take care of himself and his wife. Carlisle had merely grunted and told them he was prepared for anything. So far Joe hadn't seen anything, but like Deke his senses were heightened. He jumped at every bird call and once had even gone so far as to pivot and rise, sighting along his gun when he heard two of them answering each other. Still, as the evening progressed and nothing happened, he relaxed a bit – at least enough that he could carry on a conversation with Deke and even have a laugh or two.

That stopped just about midnight as weariness overtook them and both he and the driver looked forward to gettin' the last five miles done. It was the dead of night and snow had begun to fall once again, coating the rugged trees and blanketing the already cold, barren land. The moon was full like the night before and its light caused the ribbon of road that ran before them to turn into a silver river.

Joe saw it first. Just over the next rise. A thin trail of smoke, spiraling up into the sky like a spirit on its way to the next world.

Deke clucked and slowed the horses. He didn't stop.

"Keep an eye out, Joe. This could be a trick to make us stop."

Joe nodded as his fingers went white on the polished barrel of his shotgun. He licked his lips. "You think it's Red Pony?"

"There's no tellin' 'til we get there." Deke shook the reins, picking up a little speed. "You just take hold, Little Joe. If it looks like trouble old Luke and Lutie know what to do."

Luke and Lutie were the horses pulling the stage.

As they topped the rise, the source of the smoke became all too apparent. A partially burned stagecoach lay on its side in the center of the road, the smoke rising from a small portion of it that was still burning. All around it were scattered suitcases and valises that had obviously been ransacked.

Several bodies lay amidst the ruins.

"What'll we do?" Joe asked, breathless.

"You see any sign of anyone hanging around?" Deke asked.

"I say!" Mister Norris suddenly called, sticking half of his lean frame out the window. "What's going on?"

"Sit down and shut up and keep that gun of yours ready!" Deke ordered, all business. As he did, Joe heard Mrs. Norris gasp and a ripple of sympathy ran through him. Poor woman. This was more than she'd asked for.

"What's going on?" he heard Carlisle ask. "Deke? Report!"

The driver glanced at him. His look seemed to say, ' _Sorry, Joe'_. "Burned out stage. Looks like everyone's dead or dying. You want me to stop?"

Joe frowned. Deke was taking orders from Jeri Carlisle?

The other man's dark head was showing on the side of the stage. He was leaning out the window. "No. Roll on past. Slowly. If it seems safe, we'll stop on the other side."

When Joe turned to the driver with a puzzled look on his face, Deke mouthed, 'Pinkerton.'

He'd wondered why the Treasure Box with the gold wasn't under Deke's feet anymore, but in the coach's hold. Now it made sense, as did Carlisle's rather cavalier attitude. Jeri must have been hired by the bank or the stage company to travel incognito so he could keep watch over their investment.

"Almost there," Deke announced through gritted teeth.

Joe heard Mrs. Norris take in a breath of air, cough, and then start sobbing as the smoke from the burning coach passed over them in a cloud, carrying with it the scent of roasted meat. Joe's stomach sickened and he wanted to turn away, but he forced himself to look at the bodies that lay beside the road out of respect as much as necessity. There wasn't much left, but he could tell there was an older man and woman, probably husband and wife. Their scalped and scorched corpses lay near one another. The woman's hand was stretched out. Beside them was the body of a young woman whose skirts were pulled up, indelicately displaying her partially burned legs. As they rolled by, he noted another figure amidst the ruins. A man who might have been the driver. He was partially hidden. One of the coach's horses had fallen on top of him before dying. It had several arrows in its brown hide. As Joe noted that the man had not been burned, he saw him move.

"The driver's alive!" he yelled, his voice low and shaking with rage.

Deke nodded, his face grim. "Mister Carlisle?"

There was a pause. Then, to Joe's relief, Carlisle called out, "Okay, slow down. I'm getting off." Before the coach had come to a halt Jeri was out of it and issuing orders. "Cartwright, you're with me. Deke, take the Norris' on another quarter mile or so and then stop."

Joe looked at Deke. The older man shrugged. "I've got my orders. Guess you do too."

The stage was still moving, but climbing down and hopping off was a piece of cake compared to riding a bucking bronco. As Joe's boots hit the ground, Carlisle ordered him to bend low and follow him over to a clump of trees. "I need to get over to the driver," he said, all business. "Cover me."

Joe nodded. He hesitated, but he had to know. "Why me? Why not Deke?"

Carlisle shot him a look that rolled from his face to the gun slung low on his hip. "I checked around, Cartwright. I know you know your way with a gun. I've been told you're just about the fastest draw around. Deke's a good driver, but that's not what I need." He looked around briefly. "I don't for one minute believe they've gone, but I need to talk to the driver before he..."

He let the end of that sentence hang in the air just like the driver's life was hanging – by a thread.

"Red Pony, you mean?" Joe asked as he pulled unbuckled the strap on his holster.

Carlisle snorted. "Yes, Red Pony." Raising up a bit on his legs, the agent crouched and counted. "On three, use the shotgun to lay down some cover and then get that pistol up and ready. One. Two. Three!"

Joe did as he was told, scattering shot from first one barrel and then the next before dropping the larger weapon and palming his six-shooter. When there was no answering fire, he took a moment to reload the shotgun and then sat there on his haunches waiting for further instructions. It was probably only a few minutes later, though it felt like an eternity, when Jeri Carlisle ran back to his side. Once there he crouched again.

"No sign of anyone?" Jeri asked, breathless.

Joe shook his head. "What about the driver?"

"Dead." The agent paused. "It's strange. I was sure he wouldn't leave without the money."

"Money? Since when's an Indian interested in money?"

Jeri Carlisle stood up. After a second, he holstered his weapon. "I'm afraid, this particular 'Indian' is. You keep your gun at the ready, Cartwright. I'm going to talk to Deke."

For a moment, Joe remained crouched where he was. Then as Carlisle moved off, he did too, walking over to look at the driver who lay trapped beneath the near ton-weight of the animal. He even knelt just to double-check that he was dead. As he did, Joe heard a horse whinny and nearly jumped out of his skin until he realized it was another of the coach team that was standing just off the road, munching on grass as if nothing of any moment had happened. In the distance he could hear Mrs. Norris shouting. She sounded hysterical. Within a few minutes her cries turned to sobs and she fell silent. Probably warned that if she didn't she'd likely meet the same fate as the victims lying in the dirt. That, or be taken by the Indians as a captive. The curly-haired man made it to the end of the burnt coach, with the intention of paying respects to the dead, when suddenly he stopped. The girl he'd seen as they rolled past was there. She couldn't have been more than sixteen or seventeen years old. Just a child, really. A child who would never grow up to marry, to have her own kids, and to grow old in the bosom of a loving family.

"Joe."

He nearly jumped out of his skin. A sheepish grin lit his face. "Hey, Deke."

"Sorry I startled you. I... Well, I felt bad I had to keep from you who Carlisle really was."

He shrugged. "It's okay. The only thing it might have done was make me feel a little better, you know, knowing a professional was on board."

"Carlisle's a good man. I've run with him before. He has a lot of wartime experience with the Indians. Used to be in the army before he signed up with the Pinkerton's. Wells Fargo hired him to guard Mrs. Clark's money and wanted him to travel incognito." Deke smiled grimly. "I guess he raised a few eyebrows hoppin' on the stage at the last minute."

Joe nodded. "He sure raised mine."

Deke was silent a moment. "Carlisle found the stage roster. Looks like it was near full for the run."

A concord coach could hold up to nine people on the inside alone. He'd counted four bodies so far. "Near full?"

"A Mister and Mrs. Parrish. We're betting they're the ones dead." He grimaced. "They were traveling with a son and daughter. Seems there were two more. Another young girl and Mrs. Clark."

Joe blinked back surprise. "Aurora was on the stage?"

Deke looked wary. "She a friend of yours?"

The vibrant redhead had been Aurora _Guthrie_ five years before when his pa had hired her to come out to the Ponderosa in order to watch over eleven-year-old Elizabeth Carnaby who'd come to stay with them for the winter. Everything had gone south when Aurora's brother escaped from prison and came looking for her and the payroll money Pa usually kept in the safe...

Joe paled enough that Deke put out a hand and caught him by the shoulder. "You okay, boy?"

His green eyes wide, he pushed past Deke and headed over to where Carlisle was standing, talking to Mr. Norris.

"It's him, isn't it?" he demanded.

The agent turned to look at him. "Who?"

"It wasn't Red Pony was it, that did this? I bet it wasn't even Indians!"

The man caught his arm and directed him away from the stagecoach where Mrs. Norris was trying to rest. "It was Indians, all right," Carlisle said as he released him. "They're the ones who usually travel with Red Pony, but they've got a new leader since the old chief's sick. Goes by the name of Many Kills."

"It's Fleet Rowse, isn't it," Joe stated, his jaw tight and his nostrils flaring. "He's taken Aurora and you think he's out there waitin' to take the money as well."

Carlisle shrugged. "That's about the size of it."

"Couldn't you have done something to prevent – this!" Joe pointed to the coach, the lingering smoke; the dead bodies.

"The army was sent out on the western end. It appears they were held up by the weather. There's a army captain in Virginia City who is supposed to have organized a posse He should be coming this way. _I_ came as quickly as I could. Cartwright, what else were we supposed to do?"

Joe's anger vanished as quickly as it flared. "I...don't know. I'm sorry."

Jeri Carlisle was a good twenty years older than him. He placed a fatherly hand on his shoulder. "It's all right, son. It's a lot to take in."

He hung his head and nodded. "Do we know their...names?"

"Well, there's the Parrishes, like I said." The Pinkerton agent reached into his pocket and pulled out a singed piece of paper. "Mother, Mary, and father name of Charles. The missing boy is named Thom and their girl was Polly, or is Polly." He paused. "There was another teenage girl on the coach. There's no way of knowing which young woman's dead. They're both listed as being seventeen."

Joe could see the girl's half-burned legs, the blackened skin grotesque where it fused with the pure white cloth of her torn pantaloons.

"What's the name of the other girl?"

When he heard it, it was as if the world stopped.

"Bella, it says here. Bella Carnaby."

Tick- _tick_.

 _Tick_ -tick.


	6. Chapter 5

FIVE

Adam Cartwright stood stock-still, gaping in horror at the ghastly scene that had unfolded as he and Nathan topped the rise. The estranged son of Red Pony was at his side, offering support without words. He'd realized as a kid when he went with his father to treat with the various Indian tribes in the area, just how important silence was. Unlike most white men, the natives of this land _valued_ silence. They understood that there were some things that were simply too deep for words.

Like this.

"I will look for him," Nathan said.

Adam caught the other man's arm as he began to move. His own hand trembled. "No, I'll look."

He owed Joe that much.

The two of them had ridden hard, using Eastwind's army authority to commandeer horses at each of the way stations they passed. With fresh mounts on the average of every twelve miles, they'd made good time in spite of the fact that a light snow had begun to fall. They'd expected to overtake Joe and the coach he was guarding long before dusk. When they'd arrived at Jess' station, the old man there told them they were too late. The stagecoach was long gone. Deke had decided to do the same thing it seemed – press on without stopping and beat the approaching storm by driving his team through the night.

The burnt-out skeletons of _two_ top-of-the-line Concord coaches that lay abandoned on the road before him told the story of just how _spectacularly_ wrong that choice had been.

Without words.

Still, being a white man he fought the need for them. After all, Adam Cartwright was a man of letters – a scholar _of_ the white man's words. He'd need words to tell Pa what had happened when his father and the posse rode over that hill later in the day. His Pa would come to him for the words he _wanted_ to hear – that his little brother was all right; that Joe's vibrant presence hadn't been snuffed out in the wind of hate that blew through this place the night before in the form of a dozen bloodthirsty renegades mounted on the backs of painted ponies.

"Adam."

Words. He didn't want them now. Had come to hate them. Without words he could pretend everything was as it had been, that his little brother's mutilated corpse had _not_ been found among the half-dozen or so scattered across the land before him, some so badly disfigured only their clothing identified them as men or women. Adam's hazel eyes shifted to the far side of the eastbound coach. There was one grave. A shallow one. Above it someone had staked a makeshift cross.

It's surface was splattered with blood.

A hand came down on his shoulder. He braced himself for the words.

"Unless your brother is in the grave, he is not here."

Adam's legs nearly buckled.

Words.

He had to remember, there _were_ other words. Not carnage or devastation, destruction, _or_ despair. He struggled for them. They wouldn't come. What were they? Then, like the wisp of smoke spiraling into the sky above the far coach, almost impossible to catch, one came to him. Only one.

It spilled out along with his tears.

Hope.

"Not...not here?" he stuttered.

Nathan's jaw was tight; his chocolate-brown eyes narrowed with rage and purpose. "Two women and a girl. Many men. None of them young."

One of the men was Deke. They'd come upon the stagecoach driver first, a little ways off from the scene of the bloodbath. He was lying behind a group of rocks surrounded by scrubby bushes, his gun in his hand and his body riddled with arrows. Beside him on the ground, crushed and battered and soaked in God only knew _whose_ blood, had been Little Joe's hat. There'd been another corpse a little ways off, so badly burnt it was impossible to identify. A thin layer of pristine white snow blanketed it as it did just about all of the land around them.

The storm had arrived just in time to bury the dead.

He'd started for that second corpse, _sure_ it was Joe, and then –

That was when he lost it. At that moment everything that was in him had come roaring up and out in one great vomit of grief. He'd fallen to his knees and remained there as Nathan came alongside and then passed him, moving from one violated corpse to the next, doing what _he_ should have been doing, searching for the little brother he loved and had failed.

"None of them...are Joe?" he repeated, barely daring to believe those words.

This time they were the anchor he _needed._

"No. I will go unearth the grave."

And then Nathan and his hand were gone.

Adam waited a moment and then sucked it in and rose to his feet. He'd lived near a lifetime in the west and been party to a good many atrocities, but never had he personally seen wholesale slaughter on such a scale. It was as if whoever had done this had been filled with a rage that new no limits. The people who were dead had been killed, but that had not been enough. They'd been scalped as well, mutilated, and their bodies burned. It was the work of...a madman.

His fists tightened until he feared the skin over his knuckles would burst.

Rowse.

Nathan was walking toward him, his face long and thoughtful. There were more words to come. At first they brought him joy, but then immense sorrow.

"The grave was shallow. It is a female in it. I would guess, sixteen or seventeen years old."

Adam winced. Hoss had told them about Bella being on the eastbound stage. She was about that age. Could it be...

"Joe," he said after a moment.

The captain frowned. "I said it is _not_ your brother - "

"No. It was Joe buried her." Adam chuckled and the sound of it was madness in his ears. "He's the only one I know who would be crazy enough to bury someone in the middle of an Indian raid."

Nathan was silent a moment. "I will be honored to meet him."

'Will', not _would have._

There was that word again.

Hope.

As they buried the other victims the snow continued to fall, covering the brown earth and the crimson blood with a blue-white mask. They'd been at it a couple of hours when he heard the sound of horses hooves thundering in the distance. Adam looked at Nathan who was kneeling beside the grave of the girl. He'd just placed a fresh cross there, made with scrap wood from one of the coaches. The soldier rose and came to his side.

"Your father?" he asked.

Adam nodded. Somehow he knew it was. "Yes."

"What will you tell him?"

Adam glanced at his companion and then at the row of shallow graves.

Words.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe Cartwright squinted, wiggled his nose, and tried to open his eyes. When that didn't work, he reached up and pulled at the dried blood that welded his eyelashes shut in an attempt to speed things up, but only succeeded in knocking some of the rust-colored matter into his eyes where it burned and brought tears.

As if he hadn't cried enough.

Gingerly, he reached around the back of his head to check the wound there and winced as his fingers found it. Pulling them back and looking at them, he sighed. It had been some time since the Indian attack and the wound was still bleeding. That was probably _not_ a good sign. Still, at the moment his thinking was pretty clear, so maybe what he'd taken was just a glancing blow. Scalp wounds bled like heck no matter what. Joe closed his eyes and leaned against the rock at his back, taking a moment to rest his eyes. He knew it was a stupid thing to do. After all, he was surrounded by hostile Indians, all of which wanted him dead. What he really needed to do was get on his feet and hightail it into the hills. But he couldn't do that. At least not yet. Shifting slightly, Joe glanced at the unconscious man at his side.

Jeri Carlisle was still alive.

Joe blew out a sigh. The others weren't. They were dead. _All_ of them were dead. The surly banker Mister Norris and his frightened wife. The Parrish family from the first coach. Deke. His friend, Deke. And God... _dear_ God...

Bella.

He was sure it was her.

There was no reason to know other than that he just _knew_. After Deke read the name off the roster, he'd walked woodenly over to where the girl's body lay. She'd been tossed there like something that had been used and discarded as trash. He hadn't seen Bella in nearly five years. He'd gone to visit her that spring like he promised, the one after she'd come to the Ponderosa. They'd had a grand time and she'd agreed to come visit him again the next year but then, her family's fortune changed. They lost a crop and then there was a fire and they lost their beloved little house. The Carnabys tried to hold on for a time. Pa offered to help them rebuild, but Levi Carnaby was a self-made man and he politely refused, saying he couldn't accept charity. Instead he packed the entire family up – his wife Mary, Bella, Jack, and their dog, Scamp – and went to Oregon for some of that free land Pa was always talking about. Bella wrote him and he wrote her back over the next few years, letters and letters and letters. Through them he witnessed her growing up, going from that cute little twelve-year-old girl who never stopped talking and who had an answer for everything, to a young woman whose letters spoke of finishing school and dances, and the dream of getting married.

Married. Joe's lips curled in a regretful smile. _He'd_ promised to marry Bella one day.

Instead, he'd just buried her.

Seeking to exorcise the demon vision of that blackened corpse, Joe thought about the last letter he'd gotten from her a few months back. She was close to completing a two year course at a girl's school and had hopes of getting a job at a high-end ladies' store so she could help support the family. There were two more Carnabys now, another brother and another little 'Bella' named Sophie who he heard had the same spiraling golden curls.

He'd found one of those curls, hacked off and tossed beside her body. He'd kept it. The lock of hair was tucked deep down in his pocket. When the despair and rage he felt got to be too much, he'd reach in and wrap his fingers around it and its softness would remind him of her.

And the tears would flow again.

Using his gun hand, Joe ran a filthy sleeve over his face, striking back the ones that were falling now, and then hunkered down again. Leaning his head against the boulder, he listened for any sign of the Indians. They were like smoke, the Paiutes. Or maybe more like a morning mist that rose out of nowhere and disappeared just the same. He was so tired and his head hurt _so_ much. All he wanted to do was sleep, but he had to stay awake. He had to stay _alive._ He just _had_ to. Someone had to tell these people's story. Someone had to make the renegades pay...

Someone...

Joe's head jerked up.

God. No.

He'd fallen asleep.

He _couldn't_ do that.

If he fell asleep, they'd take him. He knew what Indians did to their captives and, worse, what _these_ Indians would do to _him_ if they caught him. All along people had thought it was Red Pony who was leading these raids. It wasn't. It was Pony's adopted son, Fleet Rowse. Joe hadn't seen Rowse, but he'd heard him – laughing as the Indians hacked and scalped and burned their victims. He'd have known that cold malevolent voice anywhere. 'Many Kills', that's the name Red Pony's people had given him, which was funny since he was only a boy then.

Well, not funny really.

Sad.

What could make a child hate that much?

Tasting blood, Joe spit it out. In the position he'd taken, wedged in-between a pair of rocks, not quite standing up but not laying down, the blood from his wound ran along the curve of his jaw and into his mouth. He didn't remember being hit, but then, he knew from experience that was nothing unusual. Doc Martin told him it was a miracle he had any memories at all considering all the times he'd been thrown from a horse and hit his head or been pistol-whipped. Apparently, a man's head could only take so much and when it was struck too hard he forgot a little ways back and a little ways forward.

He wished he _could_ forget.

Forget those blackened legs and those white pantaloons.

That curly golden hair.

God, no...

Joe's head didn't jerk this time. It lolled to one side and the motion woke him up. He was laying on the ground looking up at the sky. Carlisle was still beside him, coughing and breathing hard. He felt really guilty about Jeri. The Pinkerton man had fought him about burying Bella. He said they needed to get moving, that hanging around wasn't really a smart idea. That Fleet Rowse was out there somewhere.

But it was...Bella. He couldn't...

He just _couldn't_ leave her like that.

Finally, the agent relented. While Deke got the horses and the passengers ready, he told Joe he could bury the girl. _Just_ the girl. Jeri needed to get to Placerville so he could send off telegraphs and call in other agents. So he could alert the army. They'd come, he said, to canvas the hills for Rowse and Aurora.

Aurora. At least _she_ was alive.

But Bella...

Joe's fingers fought to clench, but didn't quite form fists. What little strength he had was draining away fast, but it would be enough – it _had_ to be enough. He didn't _want_ the army or the Pinkertons or Roy Coffee or anyone else to find Fleet Rowse. It would be their duty to bring the outlaw to justice.

Duty. Justice.

Words. Only words.

Standing there looking at that shallow grave, taking a rock and hammering a cross with the name 'Bella' into the hard earth above what was left of his heart, he'd been filled with such a soul-deep rage that his slender frame had been unable to contain it. He'd dropped to his knees and let out a howl of anguish that echoed across the miles.

Or so he thought.

But, no. It wasn't an echo. Not at all.

It was a war cry.

The renegades had returned.

Deke rushed forward, seeking safety within a nest of rocks and taking the first shots. He'd run to join him, but just as he arrived the driver fell with two arrows in his chest. After that it was a blur. Chaos exploded around him. Mrs. Norris was screaming. The stagecoach was on fire. Smoke rose into the air, obscuring the view of what had suddenly become a battlefield. Joe remembered standing by Deke's body. His hat was gone and a warm breeze blew through his hair. One of the renegades was coming right for him and he took him out with last shot. Then, he was on his knees. As his senses caught up to what had happened, he raised a hand to his head and felt blood. A second later a hand caught his arm. Jeri hauled him up and shouted at him to 'run!'. His feet obeyed, even though his brain was lagging behind, still wondering how it was gonna make them move. In the murderous frenzy that followed, somehow they managed to get away – him and Carlisle. It must have been the smoke. There was _so_ much smoke. It billowed across the barren ground, mingling with the snow that had begun to fall.

As Carlisle snapped another order and he fought to make his body obey, Joe remembered Deke telling him that the Pinkerton agent was an army man. When there was nothing left, Jeri's training took over. He got them away from the field of battle and, when he just couldn't get his feet to move, half-dragged him up into the rocks where he was now. Before he lost consciousness, Jeri said he was pretty sure the Indians knew where they were and would be content to wait until they'd weakened enough that they could move in and finish them off.

Joe wasn't so sure. He remembered that demon laugh, rolling across the hills. Somehow he didn't think it was over between him and that madman.

Not by a long shot.

The next time he opened his eyes, Carlisle had fallen silent. The wound in the agent's thigh had been a bad one and from the puddle of red underneath him, it looked like the man had bled out. Sucking back more tears, Joe looked up. A gentle snow was falling. He blinked as the big flakes settled on his eyelashes. The funny thing was, he wasn't cold. He was covered in snow, lying on bare ground, and he wasn't cold. Then again, maybe he was _so_ cold, he was numb.

That, or he was dying.

Yeah, that was probably it.

He was dying.

As he lay there, slipping in and out of consciousness on his way to eternity, Bella came to him. Not as he remembered her – not as the twelve-year-old girl she'd been the last time he saw her – but as the woman he'd glimpsed once or twice when he caught her staring at her image in the mirror primping, or watching him with something more than puppy love in her eyes. She knelt, took his hand, and spoke the words her younger self had spoken all those long years ago.

' _You still gonna wait for me to grow up so I can marry you?'_

Joe chuckled as his eyes closed _._ "Well, now, how about...we check back...on that in four or five years?' he replied, just as he had before. 'Who knows, by then...you might have another feller."

She fell into his arms then and held him tightly. He could feel her, smell her; hear her beloved voice.

"I love you, Little Joe," Bella whispered near his ear. Then her warm lips brushed his cold cheek. "I love you. Please don't be dead, Little Joe. Please, _please_ , open your eyes..."

He should, he supposed. She was asking so sweetly.

But it was such a nice dream, he really didn't care if he ever woke again.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ben Cartwright was shaken. He had heard, of course, of such massacres, where the intent was to obliterate identification of the victims by stripping away both face and form, but he had never seen it so close up or had it hit so close to home. It seemed in the five years Fleet Rowse had spent in Mexico that he had given in completely to his darker nature. Ben remembered hearing – from someone, Atticus Godfrey perhaps – how as a boy Rowse had been known to kill animals just for the thrill of it, and how that sick pleasure had grown into a nature fully capable of the evil they saw here. He knew as well that there were among the Indians – as with any group of men – those who would follow Rowse's lead. Hate had done this – a _great_ hate. A hate so dark and so deeply rooted that it could only find relief in desolation. The older man stood up. He looked around noting the blood. There was so much, the snow had yet to cover it. It chilled him think about what Nathan Eastwind had said. The soldier believed Fleet Rowse's anger had been directed at these poor people, not because he hated them, but because the one he _did_ hate had escaped.

Little Joe had not been among the victims.

Ben closed his eyes and breathed out a prayer of thanksgiving.

"Pa?"

He knew which son it was before he turned. Hoss had been quietly propping him up since shortly after they arrived to find his brother Adam standing, stunned to inaction, in the midst of the ruined and burned wreck of what had once been two majestic ships of the land. Though he had told him to stay at the ranch, he couldn't be angry with his middle son. Not after what had happened. Hoss' place was here, with him. With Adam.

And with their missing brother.

Ben sighed before turning toward his giant of a son. "Yes, Hoss, what is it?."

Hoss looked hesitant as he always did. As if what he was going to say was out of place, maybe unwanted.

"Adam's hurtin', Pa. He won't talk to me. You think maybe you could..."

He _had_ tried, but for Hoss' sake, he'd try again.

"Where is he?"

The big man tilted his head toward the east. Ben looked. The sun was just rising after a long, cold night. His eldest son's black-clad figure was cast as a silhouette against its glory. Adam was standing with Joe's hat in his hands, his head bowed before the long line of graves. The older man patted his middle son on the arm and headed that way. When he arrived, he said nothin as he joined Adam in paying his respects.

It was a few minutes before his eldest's shoulders rose and fell with a sigh. "Why, Pa? _Why?"_ he asked.

Words felt false, _wrong._ Not enough. But they were all he had.

"It's not for us to know, son."

Adam's hazel gaze sought his face. "It could be Joe buried here. It might have been." He paused. "It still _may_ be."

The older man cleared his throat when the words refused to come. He knew as well as Adam that the fact that Joe 's body had not been found meant little. It _could_ mean he had escaped, but more likely it meant Rowse had found him and taken him and if that was so...

Adam turned toward him. The raw emotion on his face was like a blow. "I want Rowse, Pa. I'm going to _have_ him."

Even though it nearly killed him, Ben had agreed to wait to begin the search. There was no way of knowing how many renegades they were facing. At the moment they were waiting for the soldiers who had set out from California a few days before to arrive. Roy was holding back his posse. Every man there was ready and eager to head into the hills in search of survivors, regardless of the danger to themselves. It wasn't all altruistic. They understood that their families were in danger from these men. Maybe their whole way of life. Like him, the citizens of Virginia City who had come with Roy, recognized that whoever had orchestrated this attack was a monster – a spirit more malevolent than any of them had ever known – and that he had to be stopped. There was to be three parties – Roy's, the army's, and the one theirs, which would be led by Nathan Eastwind. He and his sons had volunteered for it. Insisted, really. Now he wasn't so sure Adam should go.

Angry men made mistakes.

"Adam..."

"I know what you're thinking, Pa. It's not that. It's not revenge. It's..." His son's eyes met his, pleading for understanding. "It's like a _mission._ It's my fault, Pa. This, the other raids, they're all my fault! I was stupid that day on the hill five years back. All I could think of was Joe." His son fell silent, faltering, like a tall ship that had lost its wind. "I let Rowse get away."

When a ship lay becalmed, it often lost its way. He couldn't let that happen to his son.

"Your brother had been hurt. He was lost in a blizzard. You found Joseph lying at the bottom of a ravine, hurt, perhaps dying, and knew he would quickly freeze to death. Of course, your first concern was for him."

"But, Pa! If I'd just _thought!_ I could have taken Rowse out first. I _should_ have –"

Ben stepped up to his son and did something he seldom did, with Adam at least. He cupped his hand around his boy's neck and made him look into his eyes. "Could have. _Should_ have. But. If. Adam, words have power. They can break a man's soul or heal it. Saved. Restored. Blessed." Tears welled in his eyes and threatened to fall. "You found your brother. _You_ saved him."

Adam drew in a breath and let it out slowly, regaining control. He straightened up and looked toward the rocky hills in the distance – in the direction Rowse and his renegades had gone.

"Only to lose Joe again, Pa. Maybe this time forever."

Forever. Another word. A beautiful and terrifying one.

Ben Cartwright's smile was rueful.

He had to remind himself – as he would remind his eldest when Adam would hear it – that no matter what they found, Little Joe was safe _forever_ in God's arms.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Someone was pawing at him. He hoped it wasn't some sort of scavenger. He wasn't dead yet. Or, at least, Joe didn't think he was.

If you were dead, did you _know_ you were dead, or did you just, well, get up and keep movin' until you stumbled on the Pearly Gates? After all, it seemed like Saint Peter would have to be a million places at once to rope everyone who died everyday and haul everybody up there. Maybe that's what angels were for. Pa said the Heavenly Host was past counting, numerous as the stars, so there'd sure as shootin' be enough of them to find all those wandering souls.

You know, maybe _that's_ what was pawing at him. Not some scavenger, but an angel.

Maybe you _did_ have to walk.

Joe gave it a lot of thought and then tried to move his legs.

Nope. Nothing.

He kept it up for what seemed like a day or two and then sighed.

Only it came out as a groan.

That hand, the one that had been pawing at him, started in again. Fingers ran through his hair, touched his face, even pressed against his heart as a voice breathed near his ear. " _Shush,_ you have to stay quiet." The hand covered his mouth. A heavier weight pressed against his chest.

What were they doing? Breathing was hard enough without whoever it was laying' on top of him!

He meant to tell them about it. Instead, he moaned again.

"Little Joe! Hush! They're right on top of us."

The fingers clamped down more tightly on his lips. Leastwise, they left his nose clear so he could breathe. He guessed they didn't want him dead.

If he wasn't _already_ dead.

He thoughthe _was_ dead.

"Shush," whoever it was ordered.

He decided to try counting. He'd heard once you couldn't count in a dream, so he figured maybe you couldn't count if you were dead either. He managed to do it, though it went something like 'one, two, four, six, five, ten.'

He was counting toes and fingers in his head, so he knew when he got to twenty-four something was wrong.

The pressure on his chest increased and suddenly his chin was resting on something soft and warm. For a moment he thought it was Cochise nuzzling him, but then he remembered he'd left his horse in town for his brothers to fetch and take back home. He was going to be gone for a while. For a week or two. Gone with...Deke...on the stagecoach...riding shotgun messenger. Deke...who was dead. Deke who had shown him that God-awful manifest. Deke who told him Bella was dead.

Bella. Dead.

Joe's eyes shot open. He was staring at a dawn sky shot with purple, pink and orange. Whoever was laying on top of him blocked his line of sight, but he could hear them, panting, taking tiny little breaths like they were terrified. He could smell them too. Puzzled, his eyebrows worked their way toward the center. While _he_ smelled like leather, soot, and sweat as most any man would, whoever it was smelled, well, like a field of flowers on a fine spring day.

Make that a field of lavender covered with snow.

A moment later the hand released its hold on his lips and the pressure on his chest eased. He heard something that sounded like a sigh and then words.

"Thank god! He's called them back." A little wind struck him, chilling him to the bone, as whoever it was slipped off the top of him onto the ground. "Little Joe! Did you hear me? They're gone!"

They were in his line of sight right now. He couldn't see them clearly, but he thought he knew who it was. Though their face was hidden in shadow, the rising light had come down to earth and settled in the halo of golden curls framing it. Joe's hand inched toward his pocket where the earthly form of one of those curls lay.

Yep, Saint Peter sent angels all right. This one had come to take him home.

Joe's dry lips parted. His hand trembled as he reached out for her.

"Bella," he whispered.

A word.

Nothing more.


	7. Chapter 6

SIX

The army had arrived and the chase was begun.

All together about two dozen men took to the snowcapped hills that lay close to a half-mile east of the road the stage traveled. They split into three parties, two of which were mounted and comprised of a mix of deputized civilians and Calvary men. The third contained Captain Eastwind, him, and his sons. They took off as soon as it was light, hoping to follow what tracks remained before the sun had time to burn them away. Roy Coffee headed the party that went north and Major Hamilton from California, the one that went south. He and Hoss, along with Adam and Nathan, abandoned their horses as soon as they reached the bottom of the hills and proceeded on foot. They were going to cover the roughest and rockiest terrain.

The men they hunted, for the most part, were known to the Indian scout. Nathan had lived with them and, in some cases, fought at their side. Eastwind was a man of deep conviction and feeling. Jaw tight, his voice shaking with barely contained rage, he had argued against searching the flat lands to the north and south, insisting that they would only be wasting their time. If any of the passengers had gone that way, he declared, they would have been overtaken and killed. It was only in the hills that someone might find refuge from the threat of the ruthless men who had once been his brothers. In the end, he won permission to take a smaller party up into the rocks to look for signs. Their objectives was to locate survivors.

Theirs was.

His was to find his son.

Ben Cartwright's grip on his pistol he held was white-knuckled. The best they could tell the attack had happened mid-afternoon to late evening the day before. That was some twelve to thirteen hours ago. A great deal could happen in that time. If those who survived were wounded and losing blood, they would be weakening by now or dead. If they escaped unharmed, the frigid temperatures overnight would have brought about the same result. The land was merciless. It didn't care whether people lived or died. It was what it was and it had never changed, nor would it, no matter what man desired. Fortunately, the army was well-provisioned and they had given each one of them a canteen and food, which they carried in two leather satchels. His only regret was that the army surgeon was not among their number. The man had orders to follow and he had gone with Major Hamilton. Nathan Eastwind told him not to despair. He knew something of the white man's medicine and even more of the red man's. His grandfather had been a healer and he had often assisted the older man, finding healing more to his liking than killing.

Ben glanced at his two older boys. They were as grime-coated and grim-faced as he was. So far they had seen no signs, nothing at all to indicate anyone had come this way. When Adam mentioned the lack of a trail, Nathan's reply had been a nod and the single word, 'Good'. It was hard to think of it that way, but then, it made sense. If _they_ couldn't find a trail then neither could Rowse's men. If Little Joe and any of the others had managed to climb these rocks, they just might have found shelter and safety.

There was a chance they were alive.

Major Hamilton had dispatched messengers before departing, aimed at Placerville and Virginia City. Soon this place would be crawling with army officers. The major held out hope that one of the renegades would lead them back to Red Pony's camp and they could put him out of business for good. At this point Ben didn't care about Red Pony. He accepted Nathan's word that the chief had not been involved in this raid. The man behind this horror, now as five years before, was Fleet Rowse.

"Pa! Over here!"

It was Hoss. He'd seen the big man wandering off to the right where he disappeared behind a pile of large boulders. Ben arrived to find his son kneeling, his broad hand opened wide and encompassing a patch of ground soaked in blood.

His middle son turned stricken eyes on him. "Pa, it's blood. A lot of it. Looks from the position to be from a head wound." He rose to his feet and pointed. "Look over there. You can see prints."

It took a moment to tear his eyes away from the pool of dried blood, but Ben did. He saw them then. Footprints. Two sets. A man and a woman's.

"Are these your brothers?" he asked, pointing at the ones obviously left by a man's boots.

It was Adam who answered even as he knelt to look closer at them. "See that nick there, Pa?" he asked, also pointing. "I'd bet the missing gold that's Joe's boot. He was complaining about losing a chunk of the heel the other day."

Hoss scooted over and examined it. Then, with a grin, he announced. "It's Little Joe's."

Ben felt a bit dizzy, so he anchored himself on a rock as he breathed, "Thank God. What about the woman? Is it Aurora?"

The big man looked thoughtful as he tipped his ten gallon hat back and scratched his head. "From what I remember, Mrs. Guthrie was about five foot six or seven. Them's awful tiny shoes, Pa."

Hoss was right. From the look of the print he would have guessed the woman or child to be five foot three at most. Ben exchanged a hopeful glance with his son. Could they be so fortunate as to have had _both_ of them survive?

"Could it be Elizabeth?" he asked quietly.

"You know, Pa, it could be," Hoss replied, brightening. "It's a dang shame we didn't find no manifest for that coach. We don't even know for sure she was on it, or how many other young women there were."

"There were five on the coach Joe was riding messenger on," Adam said, wincing at what he hoped was not a sore point. "We know Joe's alive, but it doesn't look like any of the others made it. We've got five definitely deceased from the second stage. If we assume Rowse took his sister alive and Elizabeth or some other girl is with Joe, that leaves, what? Another possible four people missing if the second coach was full?"

"And if no one was riding outside," Ben said thoughtfully. "Certainly if there were other survivors one of them would have found us by now."

"But Pa," Hoss said, ever the optimist. "They could have gone north or south. That's why the major and Roy took off –"

"No," Nathan said as he joined them. "I know my brothers. On open land, the passengers would have been east targets. Only here, in the hills, could they survive." He paused and then added softly, "If they were very lucky."

"Or very blessed," Ben said softly.

Nathan looked at him. A moment later he nodded. "That too."

"Nathan," Hoss said, kneeling again, "come take a look at this. We're pretty sure these prints belong to Little Joe and one of the women."

The army captain dropped at his son's side. He studied the ground and then stood up and walked a few feet away. At the bottom of a natural stair, he knelt again and fingered the earth.

Coming back, he presented a hand whose fingers were tipped in red.

"More blood," the scout said. "They went this way."

"What way?" Ben asked as he came alongside him.

The native's chocolate-brown eyes lifted as he looked at the towering rocks.

"Toward Heaven."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Bella Carnaby peered through the cascade of golden curls that dangled before her blue eyes and concentrated on her knees. She hadn't had so many scrapes and scratches since she'd spent her days chasing her little brother Jack who ran fast and always managed – somehow – to get into trouble. By the time they were settled in Oregon, it had been Jack running after Sophie and little Benjamin Joseph. 'Benjie-Joe', her little sister liked to call the baby, going into gales of giggles as she repeated his name over and over in a sing-song sort of way. Benjie-Joe. Benjie-Joe. He was named Benjamin for Benjamin Cartwright of course, and Joseph, after her other little brother, Joseph Francis.

She'd called _his_ name too, time after time, just like Sophie. Only Little Joe wouldn't – or _couldn't_ – answer.

It was that last part that frightened her.

Bella blew out a breath, shoved the filthy sweat-soaked curls out of her eyes, and stood up. Ten steps took her to where she'd left Joe wedged under a rocky overhang that was barely tall enough to crouch beneath. Kneeling, she dropped to her hands and knees and crawled in. When she got to him, she found he was shivering again in spite of the warm temperature _and_ the warm winter coat he had on. Every so often, she'd abandon the look-out position she'd taken outside and come in here and lay with him to warm him up. Staying put where they were probably wasn't the smartest thing to do, but once the Indians rode away and the sound of gunfire stopped, she'd decided it might be their only hope. There was no way anyone was going to see them up here once it was dark, and she didn't know if either of them could survive another night in the cold.

Laying down, Bella wrapped her arms around Little Joe's middle and placed her cheek on his chest. Every time she did, it calmed her. It was the only time she could hear his heart beating and knew for sure he was alive. Sometimes when she went out to look, she'd come back to find him lying _so_ still. On account of he was so pale, she'd thought he was dead more than once. She just couldn't _bear_ the thought of him dying without knowing she was there. Without knowing he wasn't alone.

Without knowing how much she cared.

Bella sniffed back tears as she snuggled in closer. Her ma would have told her to forget all her nonsense and say a prayer, and Pa would tell her to believe it was going to be answered. She knew that was true, but it was still hard because God didn't always answer prayers the way you wanted. She'd prayed and prayed and prayed about making this trip – about coming to Nevada to surprise Little Joe – and now look at them! She'd worked _hard_ at the dress shop, sewing her fingers to the bone and waiting on all the snobbish superior women who bought Mrs. Tucker's _fine_ wares, just to afford the ticket.

People had no idea how hard it was to fit a corset to a woman with a forty-five inch waist when she insisted it was really thirty-four!

But she'd done it. She'd earned the money. Pa had been so proud of her. Ma'd been proud too, but she was kind of quiet about it, like she might have been happier if she hadn't been able to. Ma was funny like that. She'd smile and nod, and then you'd catch her sitting there, looking at you like you were a kettle with a lid and she thought if she looked away you'd boil over.

Pa told her it had something to do with being a woman and it wouldn't be too long before she understood.

Anyhow, she'd earned the money, and Pa and Ma had taken her to town to buy her ticket on the stage. They made it into a kind of holiday, buying Jack and her little brother and sister candy and letting them sit in the back of the wagon like they were watching a parade. Sophie only understood that her big sister was going somewhere, so she started to wave the minute they left home.

Bella smiled.

For all she knew, Sophie was waving still.

The first part of the stagecoach ride had been horrible. It had been her and two maiden ladies who only talked to each other. At the next stop more passengers got on. There was a Chinese man who didn't speak English, a couple of stuffy old salesmen, and a dour Scottish lady who promptly informed her that she was the woman her pa had hired to be her chaperone. Her name was Mrs. MacTavish and she had a letter to prove it or she wouldn't have believed her. Mrs. MacTavish never stopped talking, but it was all about herself. At least she'd only been hired to travel to Carson City with her and then she was done!

God was good. Pa couldn't afford any more.

As the miles dragged by, the Chinese man started smiling at her. That got her to thinking. Finally, she managed to remember a couple of the words of Cantonese that Little Joe had taught so she could say 'Good morning' and 'Good night' to Hop Sing during her visit five years before. At one of the stage stops she tried them on her fellow passenger. The man's face lit up like the sun rising and from then on they'd been good friends, even if dour old Mrs. MacTavish frowned on her talking to a man.

When she and her chaperone left the coach line they were on and transferred to the one that was going to take them to Virginia City, the Chinese man cried.

Bella sat up a little and looked at Little Joe's face. He'd been crying in his sleep. She'd wiped the tears away a couple of times already, but they always came back – like he was grieving for someone or something. Shaking him gently, she tried again to call his name, whispering it close to his ear. When he didn't stir, she lay back down. After a minute, she reached inside his shirt and laid her hand on his feverish skin.

She wanted to make sure he knew he wasn't alone.

In the end sour Mrs. MacTavish got off early at Sportsman's Hall and headed back west because she got herself a new chaperone. When they got to Placerville, a whole bunch of people boarded. First of all there were the Parrishes, who had a teenage boy named Thom and a girl about her age named Julie. Julie was just a little older than her. There was Mister Smith too. He looked like a banker or maybe a lawyer, but he was nice enough. And then – just like a birthday surprise – the Widow Guthrie climbed onto the stage! Bella had to laugh as her memory of the 'old' lady Little Joe's pa had hired to take care of her during her stay at the Ponderosa gave way to the young woman in her thirties sitting beside her. She found out, of course, that the widow wasn't a widow anymore. She'd remarried and her name was Clark now.

She'd also come into a fortune.

After Aurora – she told her to call her that – sent Mrs. MacTavish packing, the two of them sat on one seat and talked up storm. At one point, the redhead leaned in close and told her all about it. She explained how the local newspapers had found out about her inheritance and printed just about every detail of how she was going to get it, including where the money was coming from and when it was going to be on the move. Mister Smith, she found out, was a Pinkerton man who had been had hired to protect her friend. He was going with Aurora all the way to the station at Strawberry Valley where they were going to meet with another stage and exchange the money. Then Mister Smith was going to go along with Aurora to Virginia City to see that the gold made it safely to the bank. The paper had said it was going to be at Placerville, but that and the time the stagecoach was to arrive had been changed due to the publicity. Both banks – the one in New York and the one in England – decided it would be safer that way.

It was just like one of the fictional stories in the penny novels Little Joe mailed her from time to time!

Elizabeth sobered quickly as her free hand moved to touch her little brother's matted hair. Or so it had seemed until the stagecoach rolled over a low rise just west of the Strawberry Valley station and everything became dreadfully and unalterably real.

Mister Smith was the first one to spot the renegades since he was riding outside with the driver and the man with the shotgun. He called down to tell them to stay back from the windows. Mrs. Parrish gathered her children in her arms and retreated to a corner while her husband drew his gun. She remembered looking at Aurora and as one they moved to the window. It was the middle of the day and the sun was high so the shade was drawn. Aurora pulled on the cord that dangled from it and it flipped up. Outside there were a dozen Indians on horseback sitting on the top of a low rise. The only motion they made as the coach rolled past was to turn their feather-bedecked heads and follow it with their eyes.

At first it seemed that was _all_ they were going to do – watch them. Then, one of them raised a hand. A second later there was a shout and then all of the Indians began to whoop as they kicked their horses into motion and thundered down the road.

The driver was killed right away and the shotgun messenger too. Mister Smith tried to take the reins, but he didn't last much longer. They saw him fall to the ground with an arrow in his back. With no one to guide them, the horses ran wild and the stagecoach gathered speed. To the protests of his wife, Mister Parrish climbed out and headed for the driver's seat. Aurora looked at her and then at the door. Most of the Indians were riding ahead of the coach, jumping on the horses and hacking at the reins and tongue to separate them from the coach body. The rest were riding along the eastern side. Bella remembered looking at the scenery flying past fast as a magic lantern show and then feeling Aurora's hands on her back. Next thing she knew she was suspended in the air and then on the ground rolling over and over. When a low bush finally stopped her progress, she lay there stunned until Aurora caught her arm and urged her to get up and run toward the hills.

They ran and they ran until their hearts were pounding hard in their chests and they were out of breath, and then they ran some more. Unbelievably, none of the Indians followed them. It seemed kind of strange, but she didn't think much about it at the time. She just kept running and running. As she ran, the sounds of battle – the screams, the shouts, the gunshots and wild whoops of merciless joy – dwindled to nothing. Everything receded until it seemed the whole horrid bloody thing had been nothing more than a nightmare.

Then she heard it.

A horse nickering.

They both looked. A single horse and rider were coming toward them. The man on the animal's back wasn't an Indian. He wore a long dark coat and black hat and had Western boots on his feet. Where they were – in the middle of an open space with few trees or anything else – there was no place to hide. So they just stood there, clinging to one another as the man pulled up and got off the horse. For a moment, she dared to hope they had been rescued, but then she saw Aurora's face and she knew.

She knew _who_ he was.

She'd never seen him before, of course. The first time she'd heard of him, it was when she was staying at the Ponderosa and Sheriff Roy talked about the outlaw who had taken Little Joe and was holding him for ransom. Even when she'd borrowed Freckles the pony and ridden off to find little brother, even after tracking him down with Adam and then riding through the snow to get help, she'd never seen the face of the man that most described as a devil. She'd never seen Fleet Rowse.

She saw him now and she knew they were right.

Aurora turned to her then. The older woman took hold of her shoulders and told her to remain still, and then she went to meet him. Bella remembered standing there, watching them talk, shivering right down to her shoes from fear as much as from the light vanishing and the fresh snow starting to fall. It was about five minutes later when the redhead returned and told her she was free to go. The older woman cried as she touched her cheek and kissed her forehead. After that, she mounted the horse behind her brother and disappeared into the night.

Leaving her alone.

They'd run so far she had no idea where the road was. She was so tired, she knew there was no way she could make it there anyway. So she spent about ten minutes crying, and then another fifteen hunting for shelter, which she finally found in a clump of low shaggy bushes. Lying down among the needles and thorns she cried herself to sleep.

Only to be awakened by more shouting and gunfire.

At first she thought she was dreaming, but then she realized that, no, something was actually happening. Still half-asleep, she'd stupidly risen and staggered toward the sound, thinking only that it meant she'd find people there. When she got close, she realized what was happening. The stage Aurora had come here to meet – the one with her fortune on it – had arrived and was under attack.

Ducking down behind a clump of knotted bushes, she watched in horror as it happened again – the driver being hit by arrows, the man beside him leaping down, another man leaning out of the window of the stagecoach and then falling back in with an arrow to his heart. The wrecked coach being set on fire. It was only when one of the Indians grabbed an older woman by the hair and lifted his knife, that she looked away. Just as she did an impossibly familiar voice rang out.

She couldn't believe it. She didn't _want_ to believe it. But it was true.

The man who had jumped down was Little Joe!

In spite of her fear, she grinned. Little brother was here! Little brother would save _her_ this time! Little Joe would know what to do – how to get them away and back to his beloved Ponderosa! Then she saw an Indian in front of him take aim with his bow at the same time one on horseback come rushing up from behind. Little Joe drew his pistol and fired so fast she missed it. He fired and the man coming toward him dropped. The other Indian – the one on the horse – kept coming and swung out with a club. Little brother ducked and the blow barely missed. A second later the Indian came back at a run. This time the club caught Little Joe on the back of his head and he dropped like a sack of stones.

Elizabeth reached up with her fingers and ran them once again through Little Joe's matted hair. The golden-brown ringlets were caked with sweat, mud, and blood. It was thickest on his left side where the blood had run down his cheek and soaked the collar of his tan shirt and the thick woolen coat he wore. It had scared her at first – all that blood – but then she remembered the time Jack had fallen and cracked his noggin and the blood had just poured and poured. Ma'd told her that scalp wounds bled like the dickens, but were most often nothing to worry about. Jack hadn't even passed out. Bella's finger moved to trace the cut on Little Joe's forehead. She'd realized something was wrong when he didn't wake up and had set to looking. It was then she found it – _another_ wound. The first time the Indian had swung at him the renegade _hadn't_ missed. The edge of the club had raked across little brother's skull, cutting the incision that was bleeding. But that wasn't the problem. When the Indian struck little brother the _second_ time, the club hit him on the back of his head. She'd found another, smaller cut there, and a little bit of a bump. From how hard he was hit, there should have been a _big_ one. Ma said a wound like that had to swell, either out or in.

'In' was bad.

She'd watched then as the Indian on the horse made a circle around Little Joe where he lay on the ground, whopping with triumph, before riding on to the next kill. Her eyes had followed him a short distance and the, to her surprise, when she looked back little brother was on his feet! Joe staggered a few steps before he fell against a pile of rocks behind which another man lay all hunched over. Less than a minute later, a third man came alongside him and caught him by the arm. After pulling Little Joe to his feet, the man threw his arm around his waist and together the two of them stumbled into the smoke and disappeared. The battleground fell silent as the Indians exchanged their rifles and bows for torches and began to burn the bodies and the coach. At one point two of them rode off carrying the stagecoach's Treasure Box between them. She was sure it contained Aurora's gold.

When they were all gone, she began to walk. Night had fallen and she had no idea where to go and so, in the end, she did her best to follow Little Joe's trail. It was silly, but she figured – if nothing else – at least they could die together.

It didn't take real long to find him. She'd been walking maybe an hour when she heard a funny noise, almost like a chuckle. She'd followed it and near stumbled over her little brother. He was half-sitting and half-laying on the ground beside the other man. The one who had saved him.

The man who hadn't been able to save himself.

Ignoring the dead man as best she could, she knelt down beside Little Joe and took his face in her hands and stared at him real hard. She couldn't help herself, even bloody and near unconscious, he was just so beautiful. She ran her fingers through his matted hair, trying to free the curls, and then brushed some of the dried blood away from his eyes. He'd stirred a little as she did and even opened his eyes once to look at her. His lips parted but nothing came out. She'd thought for a moment that he recognized her, but then he started crying and slipped away again.

A half-hour or so later she managed to get him on his feet, though she still wasn't sure how. He'd opened his eyes again and was saying all kinds of crazy things about pearly gates and ropes that didn't make sense. She ignored them and concentrated on getting him moving so they could climb higher into the hills and hide. The climb wore him out. She found the little cave underneath a shelf and put him there so he could rest and then crawled in after him. During the hours of darkness she heard Indians calling to one another. They got awful close. So close she could hear what they were saying. One of them mentioned Aurora's brother's name and Little Joe's in the same breath. It was then she knew she had to keep Little Joe hidden. Fleet Rowse had let her go, but she knew he wouldn't do the same thing for the man she loved.

It was Joe and his family that had stopped Rowse from getting his own way the first time and that kind of man wasn't about to let that go.

As she continued to run her fingers through Little Joe's tangled mass of curls, he groaned softly and opened his eyes. He blinked several times before his lips parted.

"Thirsty," he said.

"I know," Bella answered as she sat up a little bit. "I'm thirsty too, but we don't have any water. Maybe we will tonight if it snows again." She stopped. He was staring at her. "Little Joe?"

Shakily, he raised a hand. The tips of his fingers brushed the trailing ends of her golden-blonde hair. Little Joe smiled shyly and then said, so softly she almost missed it.

"I guess Saint Peter...done found that rope."

Then his eyes closed again.

Bella sat there staring at him for some time, her hand on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart. She was afraid to go to sleep. Afraid that, when she woke in the morning, he would be gone. Lying down again, she wrapped her arms around his waist and drew him close. Then she reached out and took one of his hot hands and drew his fingers to her lips and planted a kiss on them.

Then she fell asleep.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Hoss Cartwright blew out a breath as he lifted his hat and drew a damp dirty sleeve over his forehead. There was nowhere quite like the Sierra where you could wipe sweat from your face and shiver all in one motion. Night was on them. Reluctantly, Pa had called it quits. He'd protested loudly, but fallen silent when he saw his father's face. They'd all descended and had a bite to eat and then, weary beyond words, fallen silent and gone to sleep.

Well, at least the others fell asleep.

He couldn't and so, even though he knew his pa would have tanned him if he'd been younger, Hoss got up and stole away against the older man's wishes. It was the middle of the night and he knew it was near pointless to keep lookin' since there weren't no way of seein' signs. But he just _had_ to look. Somethin' kept drawin' him back to this one place they'd been before. It was way up in the rocks, pert near all the way to Heaven like Nathan said. Before the army men chased away the Indians, some of them had been seen movin' in these hills, searchin' for somethin' like they _knew_ it was there.

Somethin' they wanted _real_ bad.

Hoss turned and looked back the way he had come, down the rocky trail that rose in a near perpendicular natural stair. He was sort of surprised that older brother Adam hadn't been sent to fetch him back. Maybe Pa'd decided to give him his own head for a while, figurin' he wouldn't sleep anyhow if he didn't try. It made never no mind anyhow. Even if Adam showed up, he'd just tow him along in his wake. He was bound and determined to check that rocky outcropping one last time before he gave up and there weren't no one gonna stop him.

The big man glanced down at the lantern he carried. It was lit, but he'd kept it shuttered for the most part, fearful that one of them Indians was still around and might spot it. Considerin' his size, there weren't no point in makin' himself any more of a target than he already was. Why, the sleeves of his white shirt alone fairly flagged down trouble. Once he'd reached the outcropping and was behind the wall of stone, he opened the lantern's shutter and let the light spill out along the ground. Just like Pa had said, there weren't much to see. Only stone and some gnarled fir trees, a clump of bushes, and a low overhang with a black pit of shadow underneath.

That held a pair of light-colored boots.

Hoss' heart near stopped. He blinked, suddenly unsure of what he had seen. Crouching down, he swung the lantern in closer, letting its golden glow spill into the hollow. Yep. Unless it was a mirage, he'd done seen what he thought he saw – a pair of tan boots. Next to them was a tiny pair of shoes.

Trembling, the big man rose. He parked the lantern on a nearby rock where its light would still penetrate the hidden chamber, and then crossed back over to where the man and woman lay. With a hand on the rocky overhanging, he leaned down and peered inside.

A name escaped him, stabbing the darkness like a knife.

"Joe!"

His brother didn't move, but the woman did. Wearily, she lifted her head from Little Joe's chest to peer at him.

"Who...who's there?" she breathed, her voice robbed of strength.

"Hoss Cartwright, ma'am," he answered, feeling like a fool for soundin' like they was bein' introduced at a cotillion.

There was a pause.

"Hoss?" the small voice repeated.

"Is that you, Miss Bella?" he asked, not daring to hope that it was.

The big man backed up as the girl began to crawl toward him. She stood as she emerged from the hollow and blinked in the lantern's light. Hoss watched as she put out a hand to steady herself. Elizabeth or Bella Carnaby didn't look like he remembered. She'd been a pretty little filly that barely reached his chest the last time he'd seen her. Her waist hadn't been no bigger than his bicep. She'd been a bouncin', endlessly chatterin' bundle of energy and life.

The girl before him looked wrung out as a week old washcloth.

"Hoss? Hoss, is...is it you?" she stammered as tears poured down her filthy cheeks. Then she said, quite clearly, "I found little brother."

"I see that, Miss Bella," he replied, one eye still on those boots. "I'm mighty happy you did, and that you done took such good care of him until I could get here."

Bella turned to look at Joe before returning her enormous blue eyes to him. She sniffed and then crumbled.

Hoss caught her in his arms before she could hit the ground and held her, stroking her tangled and matted curls.

"Now, there, Miss Bella, you just take it easy. I'll get you and Little Joe out of here, I promise. Everything's gonna be all right. You'll see."

Her fingers clawed at his shirt. "I can't find it, Hoss. I felt it for so long and then I couldn't find it anymore."

"What's that, Miss Bella?" he asked. "What cain't you find?"

Bella's tears began to flow in earnest. "His heartbeat. I can't find it anymore.

"I think Little Joe is dead."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

END OF PART ONE


	8. Chapter 7

PART TWO

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

SEVEN

Hoss Cartwright let out a heartfelt sigh as he walked the corridor from one bedroom to the next on the second floor of the Ponderosa ranch house. It'd been three full days and a little bit of another since he'd found Miss Bella and his little brother in that low cavern in the rocks. Even though he'd thought at the time it might be a foolhardy thing to do, he'd taken his pistol from the holster and fired off three shots. It was a poor way for a son to wake his father, but he figured – once Pa knew why he'd done it – he'd be forgiven.

Weren't no way he could carry the two of them to the bottom alone.

Miss Bella, well, she'd cried and cried. In the end he had to leave her sitting there with her back against a rock, sobbing, while he went to check on his brother. He was too big to crawl into the space and so, with a mumbled apology, he'd grabbed Little Joe by the feet and hauled the boy out into the growing light. His brother was awful pale and his head and shoulders was covered with blood. Fortunately, Miss Bella had told him about the scalp wound, so the sight of it didn't upset him too much. She'd told him too about the other wound too and so he'd gently lifted Joe up to check the back of his head and found a sizeable knot forming there. With a muttered prayer, he'd let his fingers drop to the base of his baby brother's neck and felt for a pulse. It took a second but he found it.

Poor little Bella, she'd been worried Little Joe's heart had stopped.

Hoss sighed again.

That girl's worry pert near stopped _his_ too!

After working a little bit of water between Joe's lips, he'd shinnied out of his coat and wrapped it around the boy and then carried him over to where Miss Bella was still weeping. Kneeling down, he touched her shoulder and waited until she looked up to see him holding Joe.

"Little brother's alive, Bella. He's just plumb worn out like you. You can stop that cryin' now."

Danged, if that didn't make it worse!

As soon as he'd put Little Joe down beside her, Bella's arms done shot out. She pulled Joe close, planted a kiss on his forehead, and then laid her head on his chest. Hoss stood there a moment considerin' what he was seein', and then turned away to give the girl her privacy.

It weren't five minutes later he heard three shots. Climbin' up on the rocks, Hoss searched for and spotted the party of three men at the bottom of the hill. He fired another answerin' shot and when he had their attention, waved them up. It didn't matter none that Pa was the oldest of the bunch. He reached the top first. Right after him came Adam and Nathan Eastwind.

His father's eyes fastened on Little Joe where he lay in Bella's arms The girl was still cryin' a river.

"Joe?" he asked, expressin' everythin' in that one word.

He answered with one too. "Alive."

Truth to tell, he didn't know much more.

After that things moved fast as one of those steam locomotives that were headed their way. Pa was on his knees, running his hands through Little Joe's hair, brushing away some of the dried blood, feeling that there knot on the back of his head. Nathan went straight to Bella. He pronounced her 'unharmed', but that didn't fool him none. All that meant was that she didn't have no bullet or arrow holes in her. The poor little thing had been through just about more than a body could take. For all of their lack of women at the Ponderosa, he'd been around more than his fair share. Durin' a crisis it was like they was made out of steel. While a man might give up, they'd draw on some deep well of strength and keep on goin' in spite of everythin'. But when it was over? Well then, most often they shattered like one of those pretty figurines dropped on a stone hearth.

Joe was another matter. Pa got up as Nathan moved over to see to little brother. The Indian scout ran his hands over all of him first and then checked the boy's head. Last of all, he gently opened Joe's eyes. The good news was little brother didn't have any bullet or arrow holes in him either. The bad news was he had a concussion and it was a severe one, and due to all the other 'extenuatin' circumstances as the soldier put it – meanin' the shock of the attack, a day without water, a night of exposure – he was in pretty rough shape.

They'd had to be mighty careful gettin' the pair of them down that rocky slope. Nathan told them things would go from bad to worse if Joe hit his head again. So there was a lot of holdin' tight and slippin' and slidin', but finally they made it down the hill. Most of the soldiers had returned by the time they got to the camp, though Roy and the other men weren't there yet. The soldiers had a wagon and they loaded both Little Joe and Bella on it. Pa was gonna take Joe home come hell _or_ the army doctor. The medic climbed in and took a look at them. He weren't right happy about the idea of the wagon bumpin' all over the road with a man what had taken a bad knock to his head, but he agreed. Between the heat of the day and the cold of the night, he said, they'd be better to get Joe somewhere safe and warm. They made a stop overnight at Yank's, just to let everyone rest, and then headed home.

Hoss ran a hand over his face and let out a sigh as he looked at the next door along the corridor. He'd just left Miss Bella's room after checkin' on her. Hop Sing was with her and that was just about the best hands she could be in. He was headin' for Little Joe's room now. For one thing he wanted to check on his brother, but there was another reason. To fetch Pa. Roy Coffee, all caked mud and sweat, was waitin' in the great room to talk to him. Roy wanted him to come back down and hear what he had to say too. Adam was already there. Hoss shook his head. That'd mean Pa leavin' Little Joe alone and he just didn't know if the older man was ready for that yet.

For a time, they'd thought little brother wouldn't make it.

It was only the night before Joe's fever had broken and he'd taken a little broth. Doc Martin told them that meant he was on the mend, but the road was gonna be rocky – especially considerin' which Cartwright it was they needed to keep in his bed.

Especially when Little Joe found out about Bella.

Hoss' hand hovered above the latch as he considered the twists and turns of life, and then he entered Joe's room to find his father sittin' just where he'd left him, to the right of his brother's bed. Pa was holdin' one of Joe's hands while brushing those thick curls back with his other and speakin' so low only the angels could hear.

"Pa?"

His father's weary eyes found him. Pa done looked all in. He and Adam had taken a couple of turns, but for the most part Pa'd been at Joe's side since they found him.

'Your brother was awake a little while ago."

Hoss brightened. "Well, now, that sure is the best news I heard in days!"

"It wasn't for long, but he seemed to know who he was and to recognize that he was in his room." His father paused. His fingers continued to stroke the boy's hair. "He thinks Elizabeth is dead."

That there smile he had turned upside-down. "What'd you tell him, Pa?"

"That she was in the room down the hall and that she was all right." The older man sighed. "I didn't think he was strong enough for the truth."

It was a hard one, that truth. Just like little brother'd had done, battlin' that fever, Miss Bella was fightin' for her life.

The funny thing was, she thought Joe was dead too.

Hoss waited a moment and then he cleared his throat. "Pa, Roy Coffee's downstairs. Said he wants to talk to us."

Those near-black eyes didn't miss anything. " _Us?"_

"Yeah, all of us . You, me, and Adam."

"I can't leave Joseph."

The big man waited a moment before saying, "Hop Sing can – "

"Hop Sing has his hands full with Elizabeth."

There it was, that tone that left no room for discussion.

Hoss frowned. He hadn't wanted to mention the outlaw, just in case little brother could hear, but he was gonna have to. "Pa, it's about Fleet Rowse and Miss Aurora."

It wasn't often his pa hated anyone, but he hated that man. The name came out as a growl. "Rowse."

"Yeah. Roy's got news."

His father cast one last look at Joe where he lay silent on the bed and then reluctantly rose to his feet. "I'll instruct Hop Sing to check in on him in a quarter of an hour or so. Joseph is going to need fresh cold water and some linens by then." As the older man came alongside him, he said, "A half hour. That's all I'm giving it. After that Roy can tell the two of you."

Hoss knew that his pa goin' downstairs and leavin' Joe was a hard thing for him to do. He briefly rested his hand on the older man's shoulder.

"Joe'll be all right, Pa." Then he added with a little wink, "Punkin' ain't strong enough yet to get up out of that bed and go off and get hisself into trouble."

His father covered his hand with his own and nodded. Then he passed through the door and into the hall.

Hoss hesitated before followin' him. "You hear that, little brother, don't you move. You ain't well enough yet. Fact is, we're all just a mite surprised you ain't dead."

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He wasn't dead, not by a long shot, but he wasn't so sure about Bella.

Joe had been half-awake when Hoss stepped into the room, and had pretended to be unconscious while the two men spoke. While his spirits had soared to learn that Bella was alive and only a door away from him, they had crashed at the guarded way the two men spoke.

 _He thinks Elizabeth is dead._

 _What'd you tell him, Pa?_

 _That she was in the room down the hall and that she was all right. I didn't think he was strong enough for the truth._

After they left, he laid there, counting off the minutes and waiting for Hop Sing to come. Joe hated what he was about to do, but it was something that had to be done. When the man from China came in he moaned and acted like he was fighting to open his eyes.

The hand, almost as familiar as Pa's, that landed on his forehead made him groan at the fact that he was gonna make Hop Sing feel _real_ bad when he found out what he was up to.

'Little Joe awake?'

He fought a moment more before opening his eyes. Real feebly, he reached up and said, "Hop Sing? Is that you?"

"Sure it me. How Little Joe feel?"

He blinked a couple of times and then focused on the Chinese man's face. "Okay, I guess," he said and then licked his cracked lips. "Kind of hungry."

Hop Sing's eyes lit with delight as he'd known they would. "Little Joe want food? Hop Sing get it! Have broth in kitchen. Only take minute to heat up."

As the little man bustled toward the door, Joe called out to him. When Hop Sing swung back, he said, "I heard Pa and Hoss talkin'. Roy's got somethin' real important to tell them. Don't...don't let Pa know I'm awake 'til they're...done, okay?" He smiled that smile – the one that melted women's hearts and seemed to be able to make men forget what they were about. "You know, Pa, he'll...drop everything just to come up here and...watch me eat."

For a moment Hop Sing wavered between his loyalty to him and what he owed to the older man downstairs. Finally, he nodded. "Hop Sing get soup. Not tell father. You stay put!"

"Sure thing, Hop Sing," he said.

Their cook was eying him suspiciously. "Number three son promise?"

 _Dang it!_ He'd have to ask that, wouldn't he? Joe frowned. Normally he'd just make a promise that meant nothing but _sounded_ like it meant something. Then he could do what needed to be done with a clear conscious. But today his head was pounding like Adam was takin' a blacksmith's hammer to it and he couldn't think clear.

So he lied.

With a smile and a nod, Joe said, "I promise."

As soon as Hop Sing was out of the room Joe struggled to free himself from the myriad of blankets that covered him. When he was finally free, he sat up and threw his legs over the edge of the bed. He figured he had, maybe, fifteen minutes before Hop Sing returned. He _really_ couldn't afford to waste two or three clearing his head. Still, he knew if he stood up too fast the odds were he'd end up on the floor. His pa would hear the ' _thump!_ ' and that would be the end of it. Joe snorted as he worked his way slowly to his feet and then stood there, clinging onto the bedpost and waiting for a dizzy spell to pass. Pa'd probably tie him down when he found out what he'd done. But that'd be okay.

Just so long as he got to see Bella.

Joe still couldn't quite believe she was alive. He'd been _so_ sure the burned body of the blonde girl by the coach had been hers. And yet, from what his pa had said, even though Bella was here at the ranch house, she still wasn't safe. Maybe she'd been hit by an arrow or – Joe swallowed over his fear – shot. Maybe she was fighting a fever like he'd been. A rueful smile curled his lips. Even though she was all grown up, Bella was still about one of the tiniest things he'd ever seen. Standing tall, he doubted she would come up to his chin. What she'd witnessed out there in the hills would have been more than enough to lay someone bigger and stronger low, let alone the fact that she'd been exposed to extreme temperatures and like him, gone without food or water for nearly a day. Women were awful strong when it came to carrying on for others, but he'd found that – sometimes – they just didn't have the strength to do it for themselves.

Since he'd been standing for a minute, he decided to try walking. He ended up staggering like a sailor on dry land, but managed to make it to the door. With his ear to the crack Joe listened. He could hear Roy and the others talking below. The discussion sounded heated. There was a part of him that wanted to go listen since he knew his father and brothers would hide things from him, but that part didn't win. The part that wanted to see Bella did.

He'd already lost near five minutes.

Opening the door quietly, Joe stepped into the corridor, shivering as a light breeze hit him. It wasn't until that moment that he looked down and realized he wasn't wearing anything but a thin night shirt. He puzzled about it a second and then went on, his bare feet making little or no sound on the floor. It wasn't a proper way to be dressed to see a young lady, but then, Bella wasn't just _any_ young lady.

She was his big sister and friend.

At the door to her room, Joe hesitated. Then he tripped the latch and went it. The curtains were drawn just like they'd been in his room, so he had a hard time seeing anything other than her profile as it was cast by the single oil lamp sitting on the bedside table. Drawing a breath against what he would find, Joe moved through the room, using the furniture to prop him as he went. Once he reached the bed, he sank into the chair beside it. Reaching over, he turned up the wick and looked.

A single tear ran down his cheek.

Bella's face was pale as the bed linens. Her chest rose and fell fast. Under the lids, her eyes moved rapidly, like they was being chased. Joe reached out and place a hand alongside her cheek, almost pulling back when he felt the heat radiating from her. Like me, he thought, she's got a fever. Unlike him, though, Bella's hadn't broken but was spiking.

It seemed the crisis was at hand.

Leaving the chair, Joe sat on the bed beside her and lifted her up into his arms. He ran his fingers through the tangled mass of her golden curls and then bent his head and whispered in her ear.

"Bella, it's Little Joe. Bella, you _gotta_ hear me. I'm okay. I'm here."

A little moan escaped her.

He cupped her face in his hand and turned it toward him. Then he brushed her forehead with his lips.

"Bella, come on. You're scarin' me. Wake up. _Please_ , wake up."

Another little moan and this time, her eyes opened. They were fevered, but as they focused on his face, he thought she knew who he was.

"Bella," he said, catching the hand she was lifting toward him and kissing it. "Bella, it's me –"

"Little...Joe?"

His tears were flowing freely now. "Yeah, its me."

Those wide blue eyes she had, round as the moon and deep as a well, fastened on his face. "You're...not dead?"

"Dead? Heck, no. You and I got...too much to do for that. You remember all the things we talked about?" His head was spinning and throbbing... _and_ pounding. He hoped _he_ could remember. "I told you we'd go to town, so I could show you off. And I'd take you to the dress shop and buy you a new hat. Bella?"

Her eyes were closed again.

"Bella?"

In spite of his own fatigue, Joe gathered her silent form into his arms and sat there rocking her, speaking words in her ear, hoping against hope that they were getting through.

"You gotta fight, Bella. You gotta fight! You can't..." Joe drew in a deep breath. "I can't..." He paused, gathering strength and breath before finishing.

"I don't think I can live without you."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"We've been at this for fifteen minutes, Roy, and you've told us next to nothing!" Ben Cartwright shouted, forgetting to lower his voice for the sake of the two convalescents upstairs. "My son needs me. Now either you tell me what is going on with Fleet Rowse or I am heading back up there!"

"Now hold them horses of your'n, Ben. I'm gettin' to it."

Adam really doubted that.

Sitting in the blue velvet chair by the hearth, Adam had his cheek propped on his hand. Roy had spent the last ten minutes – not fifteen – detailing the hunt he and the posse had made for the Indians and Fleet Rowse. They were sure Rowse was behind the raid and had made off, not only with the gold the stage had been carrying, but with his sister. The lawman had spent the last day in town trying to calm down Aurora's new husband, Robert Clark, before heading out here to let them know the progress of the investigation.

Which was nil.

"Getting to it! Good Lord! If it had taken the men who started this great country of ours that long to 'get to' dealing with the British, we'd be drinking tea and eating scones at four everyday!"

Adam's amused hazel eyes flicked to his brother, Hoss, who was standing by the hearth next to their father's vacated chair. They might not have tea and scones at four, but they certainly had the English china and silver to serve it!

"Did you or did you not locate Fleet Rowse?" his father demanded.

"It ain't that easy, Ben."

" _Why_ isn't it that easy? You either know where he is or you don't."

"Well, as of today we don't, but we thought we did. No, we was sure we did."

"We?" Hoss asked.

"Me and them army men. Followed him right up into the hills."

"How do you know it was Rowse you were following?" Adam asked as he straightened up.

'Cause of that redheaded woman ridin' on the back of his horse. Had to be Mrs. Clark."

"So you followed Rowse. You, your deputies, and over a dozen horse soldiers. But you _lost_ him?"

His father's tone was harsh. It was the one he used with them when he was just about pushed beyond the limit of patience.

Roy shook his head. "He's a mean one, and slippery than a snake shedding its skin. We was sure we had him cornered, Ben. We seen him and the woman going into this cave. Some of the army men circled round while me and my boys made a frontal attack." Roy pursed his lips and shook his head. "We dang near fell over each other when we met in the middle!"

"So Rowse had an exit out of the cave somewhere between the front and the back?" Adam asked for clarification.

"Must have, but we couldn't find it. It was like that there outlaw just vanished into thin air and took Mrs. Clark with him."

"What about the Indians?" Hoss asked. "Was they there too?"

"We killed about half a dozen on the way there. The rest, well, they vanished too. That don't surprise me none. Them Indians know those hills better than any white man."

"Maybe not better than Rowse," Adam said quietly. "Remember Roy, he was one of them once upon a time."

The sheriff nodded. "That's why I was hopin' that Captain Eastwind would still be here. He ran with them once. Might of known where to look."

"Nathaniel had to report back to the fort," his father said with a sigh. "He said he'd return as soon as he was granted permission. I know the Colonel there and sent a letter requesting it. It shouldn't be too long."

Roy was watching their father, concern etched into every craggy feature. "How is Joe doin' and the little gal?"

"Joseph's fever broke last night. He should mend soon so long as he behaves. Elizabeth," the older man paused, "she's still fighting."

"What's the Doc say, Ben?"

"What does Paul always say?" Pa answered, his tone short and slightly put out. "They're both young and strong. He's done all he can. It's up to each of them and God now." The older man returned to his chair and sat heavily in it. "So what you are telling me is that that villain – that _murderer_ – is still out there somewhere."

"Now, Ben, Rowse's got his sister and her money. I'm bettin' he high-tailed it back to Mexico. Ain't nothin' keepin' him here where the law's gonna be on his tail night and day."

"Nothing but my _son_."

"We don't know as Rowse was lookin' for Little Joe or anyone else in particular. Could have been a coincidence. Weren't no way he could know the boy was riding shotgun on that stage."

"Unless he was the one askin questions in town the night before the stage left." Adam met his father's stare. "Nel, a girl at the saloon I know, described a drifter that fit Rowse's description. He was asking about the time the stage was taking off, where it was going, and so on."

"So he could have known Joseph was on it," the older man said, not looking at him but at Roy.

Roy nodded his acceptance. "Could have been lookin' to kill two or three birds with one stone, I suppose." At their father's look, he said, "Sorry, Ben. Just thinkin' out loud."

At that moment Hop Sing came bustling in carrying a tray laden with a bowl of soup and a cup. Both were steaming.

"Who's that for, Hop Sing?" Hoss asked. "Is little brother awake?"

Their cook halted at the bottom of the stairs. He paused and then stammered out. "Not...not wake yet, but Hop Sing see signs. Take food up so ready when Little Joe is."

"What signs?" Ben demanded as he rose to his feet.

"Eyes move under lids. Make small sounds. I go up now and see. Call you if Little Joe awake. Okay?"

"I just got one more thing, Ben, and then you can go too," Roy said.

His father scowled. The older man dismissed Hop Sing with a wave and a short 'thank you' as he turned back to the lawman. "Well?"

"Just wanted to know if you wanted me to leave any men posted on your land? I got a good dozen deputized from that there posse. If you're worried about Rowse..."

"Thank you, Roy, but we'll be fine. We've of plenty of hands to patrol the ranch area. Let those men go home to their families. It seems there's nothing else they can do." As the sheriff moved toward the door, his father called him back. "Oh, and Roy..."

"Yes, Ben?"

"Tell them thanks and that we appreciate them lending a hand in the search for Joseph."

The lawman grinned. "Most everyone loves that youngest boy of your'n, Ben, even if they do want to punch him half the time."

"Mistah Ben! _Mistah Ben!"_ Hop Sing's voice rang out, high-pitched and panicked. A second later the Chinese man appeared at the top of the stairs, the tray still in his hands. "Little Joe no in his room!"

Even as his father exclaimed, "Good God!", Adam was on his feet and moving. He made it up the stairs before everyone else and raced down to Joe's room. Sure enough, the bed was empty. Several pieces of furniture in the room were out of place, as though Joe had used them to make his way to the door. But why? Where would he have gone? Adam stood there for a moment thinking hard. Where? 

_Where?_

His fingers snapped. Bella!

Joe must have been awake earlier when Pa and Hoss talked in his room. It was the only thing that made sense.

Meeting Pa, who was closely followed by Hoss and Roy, in the hallway Adam held out a hand. He indicated the door next to Joe's with a roll of his eyes. The man in black waited for his father's nod and then slowly opened the door to Bella's room and stepped in.

Joe was there. Dressed only his night shirt, he lay on the bed next to Bella, one arm thrown protectively over her small form. His brother was asleep. So was Bella – and it seemed, peacefully at last.

"Well, if that ain't a sight," Roy whistled softly.

"I guess Joe just had to see for hisself that the little gal was still with us," Hoss said.

"Boy lie, but not for self," Hop Sing agreed.

Their father had crossed to the bedside where he stood looking down at the pair.

"What do you want us to do, Pa?" Adam asked, sensing his father's distress at what he considered an impropriety.

The older man didn't hesitate "Get another blanket. Cover your brother up. He's shivering. Joseph is going to get sick again if he doesn't keep warm."

Hoss looked about as surprised as _he_ felt. 'Sure thing, Pa," he said and got to it.

After the blanket was in place and the oil lamp turned down, they all stepped into the hall. Roy Coffee bid them goodbye, Hoss went to see the lawman to the door, and Hop Sing went back to the kitchen with his tray.

That left him and his pa alone.

"You going to leave Joe there?" he asked, indicating Bella's room.

His father favored him with a half-smile. "Not all day, just for a little while. I think... I think maybe those two waking up and seeing each other will prove half the cure."

Adam was silent a moment. "Pa. Joe and Elizabeth. You don't think..."

His father's hand came down on his shoulder. "I'm trying not too. Now come on downstairs, Adam, it's time we got some breakfast and the ranch returned to normal."

Adam laughed as he followed his father down the stairs.

He wondered what _that_ looked like!


	9. Chapter 8

EIGHT

Bella blinked as she opened her eyes. She felt weak and tired and just a little bit surprised to find that she was alive.

 _More_ than a little, really.

The blonde woman looked around, noting the familiar – if long forgotten – details of a room she had occupied once before. Little had changed in the five years she'd been gone. The same beautiful wooden dresser was pushed up against the far wall. The bedstead was the same too, though both seemed much smaller. The silk curtains were pulled back and the window opened to an early spring day of warmth and sun. She could hear birds chirping happily in the trees outside.

They didn't know.

They didn't know the world had ended the moment Little Joe died.

Tears flooded her eyes and ran down her cheeks. Little brother's pa and his brothers were certain to have buried him by now. They wouldn't have waited for her to wake up. After all, life had to go on.

Or so she was certain everyone would tell her.

Turning over in the bed, Bella shoved her face into the covers and pulled them up over her eyes and ears, wishing she could return to the oblivion of unconsciousness. At least there little brother was alive. When her fever was high, she'd been there with him, sitting and playing checkers before the fire, enjoying Adam reading out loud, and listening to Ben Cartwright's tales of the sea. When she grew chilled and began to tremble, Little Joe was there too in the cold, bundling her in furs and holding her tightly in the sleigh, shaking the reins so the bells jingled; driving it a little too fast over the mounds of snow.

Here, now, in the reality she occupied, there was nothing.

Her face still buried, Bella gave way to her grief. Silent sobs wracked her small frame. She cried until she was exhausted and then she lay there, wondering how she could possibly go on.

Then she heard them. Low voices, just outside her door. _Men's_ voices. Two of them, maybe three.

"I told you rest was paramount. What was he doing out of bed?"

"He's stubborn as a mule, you know that, Doc."

Hoss, that was Hoss talking. The other one was probably Doc Martin. The older man had moved in and out of her fever dreams as well.

"You know as well as I do, Hoss, that in the face of an obstacle which is impossible to overcome, 'stubbornness' is simply another word for stupidity!."

"My brother ain't stupid, Doc."

Hoss was angry.

So was the doctor.

"Oh? And I suppose leaving his bed, wearing himself out, and falling back into a fevered state was a brilliant strategy? That young man's actions have put everything I did for him in jeopardy – as well as his life!"

Bella was sitting up now. She swung her bare feet over the edge of the bed and headed for the door, careful to hold on as she went and not to make a sound. Once there she placed an ear to the crack.

"Paul, I understand your anger. I'm angry too. But, he's only a boy."

"At twenty-four, Ben, you had a child of your own and were headed across the country to build a better life for Adam and yourself. Youth is no excuse!"

"I don't think it was that, Doc," Hoss said quietly. "Little brother just had to see that Miss Bella was doin' all right."

Bella felt her chest tighten. _Little brother?_ Hoss only had one little brother, didn't he? Did that mean that Little Joe –

"Joseph has been sheltered, Paul," Ben Cartwright said. "Perhaps it is my fault. Perhaps... Perhaps it is why he fights so hard to be thought of as a man."

Her head was spinning. Little brother was _alive?_

"That's not all he'll be fighting for, Ben. That boy is sick. _Keep_ him in bed this time and be sure to work on getting that fever down as quickly as possible. This relapse may be due to exhaustion, but it could just as easily be a sign of an underlying infection. Now, I have to go. Susan Carter is due to have her baby any time and I promised I would be there."

As the three men's footsteps began to move down the hall toward the stair, Bella turned her back to the door and slid to the floor. Tears came again, but this time they were tears of joy. Little Joe. Her beloved Little Joe was _alive!_ Still, her joy was tempered by the doctor's words. Little brother was sick. He was hurting.

She had to see him!

Bella wiped the tears from her cheeks and rose to her feet. She was wobbly, but that wasn't going to stop her! She crossed to the bed first and tossed a wrap around the shoulders of her nightgown and then returned to the door. She stood for a moment with her hand on the latch and then carefully opened it and padded over to the rail. Once there, she peeked around the corner and saw Adam, Hoss, and Mister Ben following the doctor out the door. There were sounds from the kitchen as well – the banging and clanging of pans – so she assumed Hop Sing was busy.

It was now or never!

The walk was a short one, only a few feet from door to door, but by the time she reached Little Joe's room, Bella was winded. She stood outside it for a moment, resting her head on the smooth wood, and then turned tripped the latch and went inside. The room was hot and stuffy and the curtains were drawn. Even though it was the middle of the day, a large fire blazed in the heart, kindled no doubt to keep little brother warm and help break his fever. Bella closed the door behind her and stood just inside it . She was terrified that she was still sick herself, still deep in the throes of a fevered nightmare, and that this was not _really_ happening – that if she moved she would wake up to the reality that Little Joe was dead as she had feared.

Then she heard a sound. A small one, like a little puppy whimpering for its ma. As she drew a deep breath, Bella moved forward, reaching out with a hand and catching the board at the foot of the bed. At first she couldn't see him. All she could see was a pile of blankets heaped up in the middle of the bed. Then, she saw his curls – Little Joe's glorious riot of dark brown curls – peeking out from under the blankets. Walking as if the carpet was made of egg shells, she hesitantly crossed to the side of the bed and looked down. Little brother was breathing hard and every so often, he'd make that sound. Much as she wanted to touch him, she was afraid to.

She was terrified that she'd wake up and find this wasn't real.

Bella drew a steadying breath. Her pa had told her once that courage didn't mean you weren't afraid. It was a choice – a choice that something _else_ was more important than your fear.

Releasing the breath slowly, the blonde woman eased onto the side of the bed and reached out to pull back the covers. She gave a little gasp as the form beneath them was revealed. Little Joe was wearing a night shirt. It was opened down to his waist, revealing a well-muscled chest that rose and fell rapidly as if he had just finished running a race. His skin gleamed golden in the fire's light, lit by the fire within and without. Bella chewed her lip for a moment and then reached out to touch him – tentatively, hesitantly. As her fingers found his flesh, she sucked in air.

His fever was shocking.

Rising, Bella went to the washstand. Several white cloths hung on its side racks. Picking one up, she dipped it in the tepid water and then returned to Little Joe's side. Ever so gently, she ran it over his chest and arms. He sucked in air when it touched him, but then seemed to sigh as the water cooled his skin. Bella repeated the action several more times and then, with tears streaming down her cheeks, just sat there, staring at him. After a moment she reached out and touched his face and then bent down and kissed him on the forehead.

"I'm here, little brother," she breathed. "I'll take care of you."

As she spoke Little Joe turned his head into the pillow. He frowned and made that little sound again and then seemed to struggle with something only he could see. She caught his hand with her free one and squeezed his fingers.

"Little Joe? Little Joe, it's – "

She gasped.

His eyes were open.

Joe looked past her at first, as though he was trying to understand where he was. But then those eyes – green as the pines and brilliant as a Ponderosa day – shifted to her face. He made a little sound, this one a tiny laugh, as his full lips curled in a pale imitation of his usual smile. She felt his fingers tighten on her own.

"Bella..."

The tears flowed freely as her hand moved to his hair, touching the sodden curls that lay in a tangle across his forehead. She loved little brother's hair. It had so many colors in it – a deep sable brown, gold like sunlight through a storm, and slender silver streaks like lightning.

"It's me, little brother," she said softly.

"...thank you," Joe breathed.

"For what?" she asked, wrinkling her nose and frowning.

"For...saving me."

Bella shook her head. "I didn't. I –"

"Yes...did." Little Joe's eyelids were heavy. Like curtains they closed over his beautiful green eyes; the thick black lashes startling against the pallor of his cheeks. "...safe."

"Yes," she agreed while stroking his hot brow, "you're safe, little brother. Thank God, you're safe."

He blinked. His eyes opened again and he looked right at her. Then he shook his head ever so slightly. "No. Thank God _you're_ safe. You're..." For a second she thought he had fallen unconscious, but then she felt his hand tug at hers. "Don't leave..."

He was pulling her toward him. Bella glanced at the door, sure that Mister Ben would be none too happy to find her here. But then she decided, that didn't matter.

All that mattered was Little Joe.

Bella shifted slightly and lay her head on his chest, listening to that heartbeat that she had thought was stopped forever. As she lay there, Little Joe's hand found her hair and his fingers worked their way into it.

"Love...you, Bella," he breathed before falling silent.

She raised up and glanced at him sleeping peacefully now, and then she returned her head to his chest.

"Little Joe," she whispered, "I love you too."

And she didn't think she meant as her little brother.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Many miles away, in an abandoned cabin at the edge of Ponderosa land, Aurora Guthrie Clark gripped the edge of the window frame, her knuckles going white. She'd kept count of the days since Fleet had brought her here, marking the wall with a lead pencil she'd found in a drawer. This was the fourth day since the coaches had been attacked and all of those people murdered.

All because of her.

There were moments when she thought she couldn't bear it. When she wanted to run out the door, down the hill, and into the nearby river and drown. The only thing that saved her was the knowledge that Bella Carnaby had gotten away. She'd promised Fleet she would stay with him – leave her husband and her home – if only he let the girl live. Unfortunately, there was no way to get word to Robert. Fleet had threatened to kill her husband if she contacted him. Her brother knew the law was smart enough to figure out that the renegade Indians hadn't acted alone. Someone had to have had a white man's knowledge of both stage coaches and their routes. He said Robert would believe she'd died in the raid. She had to accept that.

The consequences of crossing her depraved brother were simply too terrible to consider.

About an hour after she and Fleet arrived at the cabin, the Indians came carrying the Treasure Box from the stage. On the way to this place Fleet had explained that the inherited fortune was his and not hers. In a way, he was right. He _was_ oldest. She'd offered to let him have all the gold and not to press charges or contact the law if he would only let her return to Robert. Her brother's answer had been that this was not only about the money.

It was about family. _Their_ family.

And revenge.

A shudder passed through her. Aurora wrapped her arms around the light blouse she wore and looked down the overgrown path before the cabin, wondering when Fleet would appear. The place looked to have been abandoned for a year or two. Most likely it had belonged to a family who'd not been able to make it and returned east. _'Family'_ , she mused. It was hard for her to apply that word to her relationship with her brother. Still, she had to remember, Fleet had not asked to be taken by the Indians as a youth and turned into a killer. He had, however, chosen to remain with Red Pony when he could have left. When she asked him why, he'd said he wasn't made for four walls and a way of life that was confined by rules. With the Indians, he was free.

Free.

Free to burn, to loot and destroy, and to commit murder.

Aurora closed her eyes and turned so her back was to the window. She had been terrified when the Indians arrived at the cabin. The older one, Thinks Twice , was frightening looking, but seemed to have some notion of honor. He actually sided with her, urging Fleet to keep the money, but to let her go. The young warrior who accompanied the older Indian, Shadow Walker, was another matter. He was just plain terrifying. She could see it in his eyes. The warrior hated whites, _all_ whites – with the apparent exception of Fleet who was his brother in blood.

Pushing off the window, she went to the cabin's hearth where she had left a pot of coffee banked against the coals. She'd made it for Fleet who was due back anytime. Filling a cup, she went to the table and sat down with it. She took a sip and then stared at the hand that held the cup, which was trembling. It had been five years since she had seen her brother, _five years_ where she dared to hope she might never see him again. Fleet had had his way until he took on the Cartwright family, kidnapping Ben's youngest son in an attempt to collect a ransom. He'd almost killed Joseph – and Adam too – before the law caught up with him and he was forced to flee to Mexico. The lawmen were hot to capture Fleet and hang him. She'd received a few letters from him early on, which she had passed on to the authorities. Years had gone by with no contact. Then, just a few weeks back, she'd received a note from her brother saying only, ' _See you soon. Fleet_.'

She should have let the law know the minute it arrived, but never in her wildest dreams she had imagined that he would make such a bold and daring move. She had been so sure there was no way he could have heard of the inheritance. After all, he was in Mexico! The only person she mentioned anything about the note too was her husband. That was why Robert insisted on hiring Mr. Smith to be her companion and bodyguard. Aurora felt sick. She placed the cup on the table and cradled her head in her hands. Poor Mister Smith! He had done his duty and perished.

Dear Lord! _All_ those people...

Aurora drew a shuddering sigh and straightened up. With a hand she struck the tears away, knowing she dare not show any weakness before her brother or the evil men he was with. Fleet had gleefully informed her that he'd subscribed to the Territorial Enterprise just so he could keep up with her. The paper took a while to get it to Mexico, but it got there. He'd read the article about her coming into their uncle's fortune and the others about her trip. Fleet was shrewd. He read between the lines and figured out that the information given in them was only a portion of the truth. He'd high-tailed it to Virginia City as fast as he could and laid low for a few days asking questions, mostly in the more disreputable saloons. That was how he found out that the stage that carried the gold would leave at midday and not in the morning, and on a day and at a time other than the ones stated in print. Fleet said there'd been a tall blonde saloon girl named Nel had who watched him closely – so closely he figured she was suspicious. He meant to kill her, but had been distracted when the Cartwrights showed up in town.

Fleet had learned from the drunk and loquacious patrons of the saloon about not only the gold, but about Joseph riding shotgun messenger on the same stage. And while killing the young man had not been his chief reason for attacking the stage line – she was – Fleet told her it was fate that made it that way. When Joseph survived the attack and escaped, her brother sent Shadow Walker and the others to find him and finish the job.

Thank God the army got in the way!

Still, it wasn't over.

Fleet meant to find and kill Joseph Cartwright and maybe the other Cartwright sons as well. She'd spent the better part of the last day trying to talk him out of it. She reminded him that he was wealthy beyond belief now and could go anywhere and do anything. The atrocities he'd committed were horrible, but in time the law would forget. But if he killed any of Ben Cartwright's sons, that would be the end of it. The rancher would hunt him down and bring him to justice if it took the rest of his life.

To which Fleet replied, 'Then, I'll just kill him too.'

She knew he would.

Aurora glanced at the window, wondering what was keeping her brother. Shadow Walker had shown up at the cabin late the night before and, after a few words with Fleet, the two of them had mounted up and ridden away. All night long she'd tossed and turned as her conscience pricked her, wondering if her brother had gone to kill Joseph Cartwright. She should have gone for help, but she just couldn't. She knew what her brother was capable of. Every time she closed her eyes the image of childhood home going up in flames rose up her. Fleet knew where Robert was. He would slit his throat in a second and do the same to their house. Her brother was a killer He had become a killer after being kidnapped and indoctrinated into that way of life by the savage renegades who took him. The redhead reached up and struck away a tear that was shed, not for her brother, but the innocent son of the Parrishes. Thom Parrish was alive. Thinks Twice had taken the boy during the raid on the stagecoach to replace his own son whose death he blamed on white men. Thom was just about the age Fleet had been when he was kidnapped. Would he – would Thom one day also come to be a willing participant in such violent acts?

With a trembling hand Aurora lifted her cold coffee and took a sip. It wasn't easy, but she'd forced herself to eat and drink in order to keep up her strength. For the time being she would play along with her brother in order to keep her husband safe. But if Fleet went back on his word – if she even got _wind_ that he might hurt Robert –she intended to run fast and hard for the law. It might be the only way to save the man she loved.

And she might just save the Cartwrights too.

As she downed the last of the coffee, the redhead heard the sound of hoof beats approaching. She walked to the window again and looked out.

Shadow Walker was alone.

A moment later the latch lifted. As the door opened, Aurora stepped back, placing the table between her and the young warrior.

"You will come with me," he announced.

"Why should I? Where's Fleet?"

"You will come."

Her fingers gripped the chair-back. "I will _not_ if you don't answer me!"

Shadow Walker studied her a moment. She saw it in his eyes . He would as soon kill her as do whatever her brother had asked.

Finally, he said, "Many Kills wishes to conceal the gold. You are needed."

She blinked. "Why doesn't he have you or one of the other Indians help him do that?"

The warrior scoffed. "Even though we have no desire for the white man's gold, Many Kills does not trust us."

Aurora masked her pleasure. Was it possible these evil men might fall out among themselves?

"Will I be coming back here?" she asked. "I have some things –"

"I do not know. I do not care about such things," the Indian replied. "Take with you what you would not leave behind."

She nodded. "All right. Give me five minutes."

"I give you two."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Well, _dad-blame it_ , if that don't beat all!" Hoss Cartwright said softly as he scratched his head at the scene before him. "Didn't I just cart that boy out of Miss Bella's room!"

Doctor Martin was standing beside him, medical bag in hand. "Quite the tenacious pair, those two."

It was early evenin'. Pa'd meant to come up to check on Little Joe sooner, but Paul had returned and they'd got to talkin'. Then Adam came in with news about the horses they were gettin' ready for the army. Before he was done, Hop Sing announced supper was on the table. The Doc hadn't eat all day, so Pa invited him and Paul sat down with them and they started to eat...

It was about an hour later that they realized no one had checked on Little Joe all afternoon.

He'd volunteered right quick to do it, even though there was a big, juicy roast pig sittin' on a platter in the center of the table eyin' him. He'd had to be right fast to beat Pa to it, but he'd managed it.

After all, Pa looked like he needed that pork more than he did.

The Doc had followed him, anxious about his patients. He said he wanted to check both of them before he returned to the table.

Hoss snickered. Well, he weren't gonna have much trouble doin' that since here they both was in the same bed!

"I see your father's house rules have grown somewhat lax," the older man said with a smile.

The big man eyed him. "You just be glad it's _me_ found them instead of Pa. Once was sure-as-shootin' more than enough!"

Pickin' his big feet up and puttin' them down as gently as he could, Hoss made his way over to the bed. It looked like Miss Bella had been sittin' on Pa's chair, and then the side of the bed, and then just put her head down and fell asleep. Hoss' gaze went to his baby brother and he smiled. Joe was sleepin' peacefully for the first time in a long time. That was the way little brother was, he didn't like bein' alone. Since his mama died, he always thought when he was alone, he was gonna stay that was for some reason. Leanin' over, Hoss put his hand on Little Joe's forehead.

"Fever's broke," he said softly, lookin' at the Doc.

"Thank God!" Paul replied.

At the sound of their voices, Miss Bella stirred. She made one of those cute little female noises and then lifted her head and blinked.

"Hoss?"

"Yes, m," he replied.

Her giant blue eyes blinked away sleep. Then she looked down and said, "Little Joe!"

"He seems okay," Hoss assured her. "You been watchin' over him, huh?"

The girl's cheeks went apple red as she looked from him to the Doc and back. "I... When I woke up, I thought Little Joe was...dead. Then I heard Doctor Martin and you all talking." She chewed her lower lip for a second. "I just _had_ to see that it was true. That he _was_ alive."

"Joe was done worried about the same thing with you. Do you remember him bein' in your room yesterday?"

She looked puzzled, and then shook her head. "No.

"Well he was, layin' right on top of you like you was on him..."

Now it was _his_ cheeks that went red.

"Not meanin' anythin' by that. I...er..."

He heard the doctor chuckle. "Hoss, why don't you return the young lady to her room while I check your brother over. If the fever's gone for good this time, Joe should mend fairly quickly. And you, young lady, I will come see you next," he added, his tone mock stern. "Make sure you are in your _own_ room when I get there."

Miss Bella had hold of one of Joe's hands. It was all she could do to let it go. Finally, she surrendered it with a quiet, "Yes, sir."

"You want me to carry you, Miss Bella?" Hoss asked.

She smiled at him as he moved to her side. "Just 'Bella', Hoss. Call me Bella. And no, I can walk." She smiled up at him. "You are so sweet."

"Gosh darn it, Miss...Bella, now you gone and made me blush again."

Bella laughed.

They entered her room and Bella crossed to the chair by the fire. Once she was seated, she frowned a little frown. "I... I know what that looked like..." She drew a deep breath. "Well, I...we..."

"I won't go tellin' Pa, if that's what you're afeared of."

Bella let out a small sigh of relief as tears welled in her big blue eyes. "I just had to see that Little Joe was alive. Hoss, I was _sure_ he was dead. I saw that Indian hit him with that awful club and watched him fall...and then get up and get hit again. When that man picked him up and they disappeared into the smoke, I couldn't find him! I _couldn't_ find him!" Her tears were flowin' freely now. "I got him up into the rocks and then put him under the ledge and when I checked for his heartbeat that last time, I couldn't find it. I couldn't find it! I was just _sure_ he had died! I was _never_ so scared in all my life. I don't know what I would have done if little brother was dead, I think... I think I just would have just died too!"

Now _that_ was the Elizabeth he remembered!

Hoss walked over to her and knelt in front of her chair. Taking her birdlike hands in his own, he held them tightly. "It's over, Bella. You're safe and Joe's safe and that's only thanks to you." He felt a pit open up in his stomach as he said it, but it was the gospel truth. "If you hadn't sheltered him and kept him warm, Little Joe wouldn't be breathin' no more and we'd both be shy one little brother."

She swallowed over the emotion that had silenced her. "Were there...were there any other survivors?"

He knew his pa and Roy were wonderin' the same thing. "I don't know, Bella. My pa was hopin' to talk to you about that."

She closed her eyes, as if tryin' to shut out what she had seen. "Aurora," she said softly. "And I think Thom Parrish. The Indians took him. His parents and his sister...died... There was another man. He tried to help Little Joe, but he didn't make it."

That would have been Jeri Carlisle. They knew now from Little Joe that Carlisle had been a Pinkerton detective. It said somethin' for the men with Fleet Rowse that they'd killed an experienced lawman like him.

Nothin' good.

"Now, you just stop thinkin' on it," he said, chasing a tear from her cheek. "You're just mended and you need your rest."

"Yes, she does," a stern voice – not pretendin' now – said from close behind him. "There will be time enough for questions tomorrow," Paul Martin said as he stepped in the room. "Hoss?"

He was in for a tongue lickin' for _sure_. "What, Doc?"

"Little Joe's awake. He'd like to see you."

"Little brother's awake?" A big grin split his face. "You ain't joshin' me?"

The doctor smiled. "He's awake. Now, mind you, don't tire him out. Just a few minutes and then go tell your father."

Hoss nodded as he walked Bella to the bed and then headed for the door. Once there, he turned back. "Thanks, Doc!"

"Don't thank me," Paul said as he took hold of the blonde girl's wrist and pulled out his watch. "You can thank my nurse here."

The big man smiled. "I ain't _never_ gonna stop doin' that, Doc."

A few steps took him to his brother's room. The curtains were open now and the late afternoon light was streamin' into the darkened room. Joe was propped up against a mountain of pillows and looked just about as white as their linen covers.

"Gosh, it sure is good to see you sittin' up with your eyes open, short shanks," Hoss said as he sat in the chair by the bed.

Joe gave him a weak grin. "Guess I'm back among the living."

His baby brother's voice was quiet. Haunted.

Hoss frowned. "Now don't you go blamin' yourself for what happened, Joe. You couldn't –"

Hot as the fire that had consumed him before, Joe's temper flared. "I was ridin' shotgun! I was supposed to protect those people! I..." He choked. "I...failed."

"You tried, Joe. We all know you did. You was outnumbered."

Little Joe leaned his head back. He winced and sucked in air as the pillow encountered his wound. He looked right at him, but didn't say nothin'. It was like he had somethin' important to say, but just couldn't do it.

Finally, it came out. "Hoss, all those...people... I...killed them..."

He fell silent again.

"Joe, you look at me."

His brother sniffed and did as he was told.

"Those men who attacked them two stages meant to killeverybody. They wasn't interested in lettin' anyone go. It's God's own miracle that you and Bella are still alive, and Mrs. Clark."

Joe's eyes brightened. "Aurora? She's alive too? Is she here?"

He didn't know how much to tell his brother. He thought maybe Pa ought to be the one to mention Rowse bein' back. They wasn't sure if Joe knew it was him that done the killin'.

"She ain't here, Joe. She's mendin' elsewheres."

That seemed to relieve him. His brother remained silent a moment and then said, "I was afraid her brother got her."

Hoss fought a sigh.

So he _did_ know.

The big man decided to let it go even though he knew Little Joe'd give him an earful later for doin' it. "Mrs. Clark's safe, little brother, and so are you."

Joe's jaw tightened. His lips quivered as his fingers curled into fists. Hoss could tell he was fightin' back tears .

"Hoss..." This time Joe's voice did break. "I thought it was...Bella."

"Thought _what_ was Bella?" he asked.

"The girl with the golden curls."

It took a second. Then he remembered the single grave with the cross. "The one you buried?" At his look, the big man added, "We knew it was you."

A tear ran down his brother's cheek. "I got everybody killed!" he all but shouted. "I insisted on taking time to bury her. I couldn't..." A shudder ran the whole length of his body. "I _couldn't_ leave her lyin' there."

They was fairly certain Joe would have buried any young girl what had been used like that, but they'd suspected her thought it was Bella.

Hoss' hand reached out to take hold of his brother's wrist. "I'm sorry, Joe. That had to be hard on you."

"She was lyin' there, Hoss. On her back, looking at the sky. Her face was...gone." Little Joe gasped with the memory. "Everything from the waist up was burned so bad. Her dress was ripped. Her legs... God, Hoss, her legs were spread apart and the burned cloth was flappin' in the wind, and – "

Hoss was on the bed and had his little brother in his arms faster than a comet. As Joe sobbed, he ran a hand through his brother's curly hair, careful to avoid where the club had struck.

"Now, you listen here, little brother, you done been through more than most men could bear. You got a sorrow in you that could eat a man alive. You gotta let that out afore it does."

"Hoss, I can't –"

"Yes, you _can!_ God didn't save you out of all them people for no reason, Little Joe. He's got somethin' right special waitin' for you and Bella, 'cause of he saved her too. If you give up, little brother, then you're lettin' those outlaws win and all those people done died for nothin'."

Joe had quieted enough to listen. His brother's face was turned into his shirt. The cloth was soaked through. As he sat there, cradlin' him, Hoss' own tears began to fall, wettin' that mass of brown curls that was free now of mud and blood.

"You gotta believe it, boy. You just _gotta_."

Little Joe's body went slack against him. "Thanks, Hoss," he sniffed.

"Boy, you're done tuckered out," the big man said, putting him at arms' length and lookin' at him. "You need to get some rest."

"I was about to say the same thing."

Hoss turned to find their father standin' in the doorway. "It's Pa, short shanks," he said quietly. "Pa's done come to see you."

Joe turned slightly, smiled sweetly at the older man, and then went limp in his arms. Hoss placed his baby brother down carefully and pulled the cover up to his chin. After that, he went over to their father.

"He's plumb wore out, Pa. And it ain't only his body. Joe's carryin' a heap of guilt about them people who died."

The older man laid a hand on his shoulder. "That's Marie's boy," he said softly, his eyes on Joe.

"You think he's gonna be all right?"

It was a loaded question and Hoss knew it, but like he'd reassured Little Joe, he found he was in need of some reassurin' too.

"Time heals most everything, son, but you have to give _time_ time." His father looked at him. "Thank you," he said.

"Shucks, it ain't nothing, Pa."

"Well, _it_ may be nothing, but you most _definitely_ are something." His father placed an arm around his shoulder. "Now, let's go let Adam finish that tale about the horses..."


	10. Chapter 9

NINE

Adam reached up and batted one of the Chinese lanterns that hung from the ceiling rafters and watched it sway back and forth as he walked through the great room. The house was decked in finery and that included flowers and streamers, as well as the brightly colored paper orbs.

The Cartwrights were throwing a party.

It had been three weeks since the raid on the stage coach line in which Bella and Joe had almost been killed. Their father wanted to do something to celebrate the pair's rescue from the jaws of death. It was also Bella's birthday. Today she turned eighteen and officially became a woman.

He wondered if _that_ was the problem.

Paul had granted Bella permission to get up and move about long before he did Joe. Baby brother's lungs had become inflamed and there was fear of pneumonia, so the doctor confined him to his room. For the majority of those next weeks, whenever Bella went missing, that was where they'd find her – in Joe's room. The blonde woman insisted on nursing Joe back to health. In the beginning his kid brother had eaten up the attention, but as the days turned to weeks, something changed. He'd go to the room to check on Joe and find him pretending to sleep while Bella was there. He could tell, of course, since Joe had pulled that routine on him and Hoss more times than he could count. Joe would snuggle down under his covers until only the top of his curly head showed. Every once in a while he'd make a little noise, shift, and then grip the pillows with his fingers. Adam ran a hand along the back of his neck as he glanced at the stairs. He didn't think Bella had caught on. She always seemed cheerful when he came in. But there was something _definitely_ bothering his brother.

Joe had literally gone green when he heard about the party.

He and Hoss had discussed what it all meant. Joe was still having a hard time overcoming what happened and was, in his opinion, suffering from depression. He blamed himself for the deaths of the people who were on the stage he was supposed to have been protecting. It didn't matter what anyone said – him, Hoss, Hop Sing, Bella, _or_ Pa – Joe just wouldn't let it go. He felt responsible which, on one hand, was a sign of manhood, but on the other hand went a long way to show that Joe was still a child. The hardest day had been the one where Aurora Clark's husband had come to the ranch house to question him and Bella. Joe had been so distraught after Robert left, that he'd actually suffered a setback. It took a lot for them to keep Pa from sending one of the hands for Doctor Martin. In the end, the older man said he'd give it a day. When Joe heard that, little brother had come down to breakfast the next morning with a smile on his face, seemingly fit as a fiddle.

Seemingly.

Joe had _seemed_ all right. The truth was, he was far from it, as his nightmare that night attested.

Today was the last Wednesday in November. Thanksgiving was past and Christmas on its way. Unlike the time before when Bella had stayed with them and they'd all ended up running around in a blizzard, the weather this year was temperate. Winter was definitely on the horizon, but so far the snow had held off. Hence the decision to go ahead and hold a party. The roads were clear and everyone was in a holiday mood. Bella was turning eighteen, and his little brother needed something to take his mind off of what had happened.

"And a good time will be had by all!" Adam declared with a roll of his eyes as he headed into the kitchen. Hop Sing was there, putting the finishing touches on just about the largest cake he had ever seen. It was covered with pink roses and other flowers made of marzipan with 'Happy Birthday Bella' emblazoned on the top.

"I think you've outdone yourself, Hop Sing. That cake's bigger than Bella," Adam teased as he walked to the Chinese man' side.

"Bella little. Cake maybe not big enough for twenty people," the cook replied.

Pa had invited most of the neighbors, plus Doctor Martin and Roy. "If Hoss sees it first, that's a given," he replied as he stuck his finger into the icing on the side opposite the name.

Hop Sing's eyes went wide as the plates on the wall. "Mistah Adam not make hole in cake!"

Adam grinned as he licked his finger. "My expert opinion is that you need to ladle a little icing into that wound before it festers."

Hop Sing was making a shooing motion with his hands. "Mistah Adam go away! Find someone else to bother!"

He shrugged. "Hoss is hanging the banner outside. Joe's pretending to sleep. Bella's watching Joe, and Pa's watching both of them. I'm open to suggestions."

The Chinese man repaired the hole in the cake and then squeezed some icing into a deep spoon and handed it to him. Adam smiled and accepted it and then shoveled the heaping portion into his mouth.

"Little Joe sad," Hop Sing said, his voice tempered with concern. "Why he no better?"

How did he answer that? Physically, Joe was improving. But emotionally – _spiritually?_ That was another matter.

"It's said time heals all wounds, Hop Sing. I'm not so sure it does. In time the mind builds up enough scar tissue to protect itself and the pain lessens, but the wounds are never truly gone." He drew a breath and let it out in a sigh. "You know Little Joe. He feels things deeply. It's going to take him some time to get over this."

Hop Sing nodded. "Missy Bella help. Good she here."

Was it? Adam wondered. From what he had seen, it seemed Joe found Bella almost _too_ painful a reminder of what had happened.

Adam ambled over to the side table in the kitchen where a plate of chocolate and cream dessert rolls lay. "You've really outdone yourself today, Hop Sing. Éclairs?" They were one of Joe's favorites, which always amused him. The self-proclaimed bronco buster who wanted nothing to do with culture, enjoying a French delicacy. Adam glanced at the ice box. "What else have you got in store for us?"

Hop Sing came over and snatched the plate out from under his wandering fingers. "You find out tonight at party with everyone else! Mistah Adam go away. No food left if he stay!"

He raised his hands in surrender – and then snatched one of the éclairs from the tray. Adam exited the kitchen to a barrage of Hop Sing's mock protests. As he took a bite, he headed back into the great room and arrived just as Hoss came in the door.

"Banner's up and blowin' in the wind!" the big man proclaimed as he hung his ten gallon hat on the wall rack.

"Wind? Oh no. Don't tell me it's going to storm."

Hoss nodded. "I think it'll be after the party. Around sunrise. Maybe sooner."

As warm as it was, it would most likely be rain. "That's good. That way everyone will be home before it hits."

His middle brother cast a glance at the stairs. "You seen short-shanks yet today?"

It was almost noon. Paul had told Pa to let Joe sleep as much as he wanted for at least a month, in order to build up stamina and strength. The fact that Joe was being obedient was another indication that something was wrong. Normally, any hint that he was not pulling his weight was enough to get him on his feet and out the door no matter _how_ tired he was. He couldn't count the times the kid had come close to working himself to death.

"No. I assume he's sleeping."

"What about Bella?"

Adam snorted. "She's watching Joe sleep."

"That little gal sure does have it bad."

Leave it to Hoss to state the obvious. "So you've seen it too?"

Hoss'd reddish-blond brows popped toward his receding hairline. "You'd have to be blind as five bats not too."

The black-haired shrugged. "Then it appears little brother is blind."

"I've been thinkin' maybe that's what's got him down, you know? Well, that along with everything else. You remember how hard it was for him to tell her they was just friends all those years ago?"

Joe saw Bella as that child, that was for certain. After all, he had just turned twenty-four and Bella was just eighteen. Seven years made a lot of difference where maturity was concerned.

Adam's lips quirked.

Bella was _definitely_ more mature than Joe.

"Could be. I know Joe would fight tooth and claw not to hurt her feelings."

"You remember how she thought the two of them was gonna get married?" his brother asked.

He certainly did. It had been cute at the time, but Pa had made it clear to Joe five years before that if _he_ didn't make it clear to Bella that it wasn't going to happen, then he'd hurt her twice over.

"I guess that day Pa warned about has finally come," he replied.

Hoss' nod turned into an inclination. Adam turned to see Joe coming down the stairs, yawning and running a hand through his unruly curls, trying to tame them.

"Well, if it ain't sleeping beauty," the big man jibed.

Joe looked slightly puzzled as he came to rest at the bottom of the steps. "Huh?"

"If you're lookin' for breakfast, you ain't gonna find it. Hop Sing's just about to put lunch on the table."

Joe shrugged. "I'm not hungry. I'm gonna go out and saddle Cooch and take a ride. I thought I'd check out that fence Pa said needed mending."

Pa and Joe had had it out a few days back. After the relapse, their father had limited what Joe was allowed to do until Paul's return at the end of the week. Joe had abided by his edict for a few days and then boldly declared that he was twenty-four and Pa couldn't tell him what he could and couldn't do. Their father had responded that if he had one wit of sense in that curly head of his, he'd let him make his own decisions, but since most of them seemed to be imprudent, this time – where his health was concerned – he was laying down the law.

Adam sighed. Nothing new there. It wasn't all that unusual for Joe to end up on the wrong side of the law.

"Pa won't like it," he said.

Joe's temper flared. "Pa can just take it and –" He caught himself before he said something he was going to regret. He stood there a moment, roping in his anger, and then announced, "I'm not going to do any work. I'm just gonna ride out and _see_ where it needs done."

"You want me to come along, Joe?" Hoss offered. "Since we got that party tonight, it'll go quicker with the two of us."

Adam knew what Hoss was doing. Giving Joe an 'out'. That was something else Pa had argued about with Joe – going out alone.

It was always there. The possibility that Fleet Rowse might still be in the area.

Roy was checking almost daily with the sheriffs in all the nearby towns. So far there had been no reports of the outlaw being seen. But Rowse had lived with Indians and like them, knew how to move silently and unseen. It was a constant fear they all had – Joe being out somewhere alone and Fleet finding him.

Joe stood there, nostrils flaring, chin jutted out; his whole lithe form rigid. Then, he nodded. "Come if you want. Makes no difference to me."

And that was about as gracious an invitation as he had ever heard.

As Joe put his hand to the door latch, Hoss said, "I'll be out in a minute. I got somethin' to get from my room."

Their little brother's glare showed that he saw through that ruse too. "Just don't take too long talkin' about me," he grunted and slammed the door behind him.

"Whoo-ee! That was just about as much fun as handlin' a fumin' rattler," Hoss proclaimed.

He nodded. "Seems he got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning – afternoon."

"He didn't say nothin' about Bella. You suppose..."

Adam followed his middle brother's gaze. The object of that sentence was coming down the stairs. Bella had been with them for breakfast. She'd come to the table wearing a simple day dress, with her hair pulled back in a tail. She'd talked and chattered and simply been that little girl who had saved his brother's life and come to be their friend.

The _woman_ descending the stairs right now was quite a different story. Pa had taken her to town the day before to the ladies' dress shop and told her to pick out what she wanted for the party. She'd chosen a deep crimson bustle style gown made of watermarked silk that shimmered as she moved. It had a square neckline and three-quarter sleeves. It wasn't a fancy dress, but an elegant one, and its plain nature emphasized the beauty of the one who wore it.

Bella didn't wear make-up of any kind. She didn't need it. Her complexion was a natural warm ivory with blush that pinked her cheeks and delightfully tinted the end of her upturned nose. She had her hair down now. It was the color of tupelo honey; golden with undertones of amber. She had it pulled up on both sides and caught it in a set of ivory combs, causing a small cascade of curls to fall across her forehead and a larger wave that lay across her shoulders. A simple gold chain with a tiny cross adorned her neck and petite gold nugget earrings glinted in the lobes of her ears.

As Hoss let out a low whistle, Adam applauded.

"Beauty itself doth of itself persuade the eyes of men without an orator," he said. "Bella, you look stunning!"

"You sure that's Bella, Adam?" Hoss asked with a wink. "I think someone done stole that little gal away last night and left a perfect rose in her place."

He glanced at his brother with a smile, wondering if the big man knew he was waxing poetic. Bella for her part... Well, that blush-pink tint on her cheeks was now as deep as the color of her gown.

"Do you like it?" she asked, taking a little spin, allowing the gores to open and fan out about her tiny waist like the petals of that rose unfolding.

"It's perfect," he answered. "Don't you think it's perfect, Hoss?"

"Mm-mm, it _sure_ is! You're gonna have every feller at that dance tonight wantin' to put his name on your card. Fact is, you'll probably run out of room!"

Bella smiled. She hesitated a second and then asked, "Do you think Little Joe will think I'm pretty?"

"Well, if he doesn't," Adam said softly, "something has _definitely_ gone wrong with his eyes." As he opened his mouth to ask her if she would like to be escorted to the table Hop Sing was busy setting, the door opened wide and the object of the lovely lady's question stomped in.

"Forgot my daggone hat," Joe growled as he headed for the stairs, only to pull up short at the angelic presence standing by the newell post.

It was at that moment that Adam realized that Bella had a power no one else possessed. She'd stopped Joe in his tracks.

Behind him, Hoss chuckled quietly. Adam turned and gave him a wink.

Bella was standing there, staring at Joe, a perplexed look on her beautiful face. "Well?" she said at last.

"I...well...I..." Joe stammered. "I...forgot my hat...I left it...upstairs on the dresser."

Her rose-petal lips quirked. "I bet the dresser looks quite rakish wearing it."

Joe was pulling at his collar now and the color of his ears matched Bella's cheeks. "Rakish? My...what?"

She twirled in a little circle, those crimson Moiré panels spiraling out again to accentuate her tiny waist. "Do you like it?"

Hoss was dying behind him. Adam gave him a swift elbow in the ribs and a stern look worthy of Pa. Any sign of the situation being amusing to the two of them and Joe's temper would flare. Their kid brother _hated_ being made fun of – at least when there was truth at the bottom of the jab.

Joe still hadn't moved. His back was stiff as a board. "...like it?"

"My gown for the party tonight, silly." Bella stopped whirling and looked at him. "Are you feeling poorly, little brother?" she asked as she stepped up and placed her hand on his forehead. Joe had his head down. Probably not a good thing.

That crimson Moiré bustle-back gown had _quite_ the low neckline.

Yep. That did it.

Joe reared back like a wild mustang spying a saddle.

"I'm fine!" he all but yelled, offering his usual mantra that let you know he was anything _but_. "If I'm feelin' poorly, it's only because people won't stop treating me like an invalid!" He drew a breath, almost but not quite able to realize what his words would do to the sweet young thing standing before him. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I gotta get my hat and get to work!"

With that Joe almost _literally_ flew up the stairs.

Bella stood there for a moment as if stunned and then she ran past them and out the door, slamming it behind her.

Adam pursed his lips and sighed.

"Should be a _wonderful_ party."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

It was a wonderful party. Hop Sing had outdone himself. Ben Cartwright stood by the staircase, leaning against the newel post, a glass of punch in one hand and a beautiful woman on his arm. Catherine Begg was one of Virginia City's finest catches. She was the proprietress of her own business and widowed for three years and had only recently come back into society. They had met at her establishment when he took Elizabeth to town to find a gown for her to wear tonight. Kate, as she liked to be called, had suggested the crimson Moiré the girl was wearing.

The choice was perfect.

As he took a sip of his brandy, Ben looked over the rim at his youngest son who, uncharacteristically, was standing on the sidelines watching instead of dancing. A number of young beauties had come up to him, but after accepting the first one, Joseph had turned all the others down. If the boy wasn't twenty-four years old, he would have said he was pouting.

"Do you think we're in for a temper tantrum next, Pa?" Adam asked as he walked past, not bothering to wait for an answer as he headed for the young lady he was currently sparking.

"Your sons are delightful, Ben!" Kate remarked with a smile. "Alike in so many ways and yet, so different."

As different as the women who bore them.

"They keep me on my toes, especially that youngest one."

"Joseph, you mean?" She leaned in closer. "If I was twenty years younger, that young man would be in trouble!"

Ben smiled at her and patted her hand. "I guess you'll just have to settle for the older version."

She went on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. "Like a fine wine, men only get better with age."

"Looks like you're havin' a good time, Pa," Hoss remarked as he walked past carrying a plate of food.

The older man nodded. "Time of my life. I just wish your younger brother was enjoying himself."

"Well, it ain't spoilin' Bella's time none. Look at that girl dance!"

Hoss was right. At first Bella had asked Joseph to dance and they had taken one turn around the dance floor. After that, it seemed Joseph always had something else to do – help Hop Sing carry in the food, go for more wood; check that funny noise he'd heard outside. After the girl had spent half an hour waiting for him, looking miserable, Adam had gone up to Bella and asked her to be his partner in a Virginia Reel. It took a few minutes, but soon she was smiling and laughing and Adam was giving way to a young man who had asked to cut in, and then that one gave way to the next. And the next...

Bella was blooming right before their eyes.

"He's jealous, you know," Kate said softly as his middle son moved away.

"Who? Hoss?"

She sighed and rolled her large brown eyes. "Men. Blind as a noon day owl! No, _Joseph_."

"Of what?" He looked again, noting his youngest's eyes were locked on Bella's twirling form. "Of Bella dancing with other young men, you mean? Nonsense. They're just friends."

"Oh. _Just_ friends." Kate ran a hand along the side of her face, pushing back a few errant strands of chestnut hair streaked with silver. "Then why, may I ask, is he scowling instead of smiling?"

Ben looked again. She was right. "Joseph probably feels protective of her."

"Oh, he has _feelings_ for her all right," the older woman replied. "Protective _might_ be one of them. Ben, I was a young woman at one time, believe it or not, and I've seen that look before. I admit, there is something in it of an older brother – an older brother who would tear apart any man who so much as dared to look at that charming young creature in the way _he's_ looking at her now."

He hadn't considered it. Joseph had known Bella since she was eleven years old, and though his son had promised to marry her when she grew up, they had all known he was just humoring a little girl who had a crush on him.

A little girl...

"Oh," he said.

"And the penny drops," Kate laughed.

Good Lord. It all made sense now. Joseph heading out of the house before Bella was up, asking for – no _demanding_ extra work that would keep him away from the ranch. Finding him in the barn brushing and brushing Cochise's patchwork coat until they all feared the poor horse would end up hairless. Joe's silence at meals.

The look he was wearing now.

Even though he didn't know it, Joseph was in love with Bella.

Ben's eyes flicked to the beautiful young woman who was taking a second turn on the dance floor with the handsome and charming son of Bill Curtis, a distant neighbor. As his gaze returned to his youngest, his eyes met Adam's. An unspoken understanding passed between them in that instant.

"Those boys," he growled under his breath.

"The parents are always the last to know," Kate chuckled. "Now, Mister Benjamin Cartwright, if you are done with your brandy, this old lady would like to show the young ones how it's done."

Ben laughed. "Forgive me. All I've been talking about is my sons."

She shrugged. "Every woman in the territory knows that comes with catching the eye of the handsomest man in the state. Never apologize for love."

As he took Kate's hand and moved her onto the dance floor, Ben shot another look at Joseph.

He hoped his son would come to understand that same thing.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe knew he was sulking, but he didn't know what else he could do. Every time Bella took the hand of one of his friends and danced with them, smiling and laughing, he wanted to do two things – be _happy_ for her and _deck_ them _._ He didn't know what was wrong. He loved Bella with all his heart but, well, he was her 'little brother' as she called him. It was like they were...family. He knew he should be pleased that she was having such a grand time, but he wasn't. He guessed this was what big brothers felt like when their little sisters got old enough to have beaus. From the look of her, she'd gotten over thinking she was gonna marry him. Bella was hanging onto Geoff Curtis right now like she feared she'd plunge off a hill if she didn't. Geoff was leaning in, whispering something in her ear that made her laugh.

He wanted to take that smile on Geoff's face and wipe the floor with it!

"Having fun, Joe?"

Adam.

Of course, it was Adam.

"What's it to you?" he growled.

"Whoa. Down, boy."

"Don't call me a 'boy'."

"I wouldn't have to call you one if you'd stop acting like one," Adam retorted. "You're spoiling Bella's party and that is the act of a self-centered child."

He had a comeback, but it stuck to his tongue like nut butter. He'd seen it. Every once in a while Bella would look over his way. When she did there was a smile on her lips, but not in her eyes.

Joe shrugged as he didn't know what to say.

"Why don't you go dance with her?"

Why didn't he? Why?

 _Why_ he didn't was too embarrassing to admit to anyone. He'd touched Bella plenty of times. Back when she was eleven, he'd caught her by the waist and swung her around like on of those whirling dervishes in that Arabian Tales book he used to read to her from. Back when her 'little brother' had tucked her in at night and planted a kiss on her forehead. But today, when he took hold of the tiny corseted waist wrapped in soft crimson cloth, there'd been a bunch of feelings wash over him that had _nothing_ to do with being a little brother.

And it wasn't her forehead he wanted to kiss.

"I guess I just ain't feelin' up to it, Adam," he answered with a kind of half-truth.

"You feeling weak again?" his brother asked with sudden concern.

"Yeah. Weak." That wasn't a lie either. "I think I'll just go outside for some fresh air. You go have some fun, Adam. Valerie's lookin' for you."

He had almost made it to the door when a small crimson form stopped him. "Joe?"

Trapped as he was, Joe turned and looked down at Bella. She'd been dancing hard and her chest was heaving, making her little breasts rise and fall.

Flustered he looked away.

"Did I do something wrong?" she asked in a little hurt voice.

That made him feel about two inches tall. "Its not you, Bella. Its me. I'm...just tired."

She reached for his face, touching his cheek.

That touch was electric.

"You don't seem to have any fever."

Joe stumbled back. "Bella, you can't keep... You can't keep touching me like that. You're eighteen now. People will wonder."

"People?" she snapped. "What people?" She turned to look at the crowd. "No one is even paying attention to us."

"Bella, you're _livin'_ here. It just... It just ain't right."

"Oh? It isn't 'right'? Well, what is right? Treating me like I have the plague?"

People were looking now 'cause she was almost shouting.

"Bella, keep it down."

"I will not 'keep it down'! I can tell you that _you_ are the one with your mind in the gutter, Joseph Cartwright! You and I are just friends and –"

Geoff Curtis had come up behind her. "Do you need help, Bella?" he asked.

"No. Just having a word with my 'little brother'," she said, her tone somewhere between hurt and wanting _to_ hurt.

"'Little brother', that's...cute," Geoff said.

Boy, how he wanted to punch him in the nose, but he held back knowing Pa would be right upset if he got blood on the floor.

"You want to make something out of it?" Joe snarled.

Of course, if it was Geoff who took the _first_ swing

Bill Curtis' son looked a lot like him, except that he was taller and had curly black hair. He wore it long and it made him look kind of like a sheep that needed shorn. His eyes might have been called green, but there was a lot of brown in them too so he would have called it hazel. Geoff was a year or two younger than him, though they'd gone to school together. He'd been to college like Adam and had just come home that summer.

Geoff held up his hands. "I'm not a brute. I don't settle things with fisticuffs, Cartwright."

Joe scowled. _If I push you hard enough, you just might._

"Joseph, is there a problem?"

His father was standing behind Geoff with two full punch glasses in his hands.

Joe's eyes went from Bella to the other man. "No, sir."

"...that's good. Say, Geoff, I heard you have asked Bella to go to town with you." The older man paused. "Joseph, its not polite to stare with your mouth open."

He closed it. He turned to Bella. "You're going out with him?"

Bella nodded. "Since I had nothing else to do and no one else to take me to town to see a show, Geoff kindly said he would."

"Show? What show?"

"There's a troupe of actors in town, Cartwright. They're performing tomorrow night at the Palace." Geoff sniffed. "It's culture. Not the sort of thing a _cowboy_ would be interested."

"Who says I ain't interested in culture?" Joe countered quickly. "I've seen culture before."

He _hated_ it, but he'd seen it.

"Well, I've already asked Bella –"

"Did you say 'yes'?" he asked her.

Bella had that look, the one he remembered from when she was eleven. It'd put the fear of God in any man.

She placed a finger beside her pale pink lips. "Now let me think. I don't seem to recall. I think I was _about_ to."

"Well, if you ain't – you haven't said 'yes' yet, then I call first dibs."

Bella's blue eyes widened. "You want to take me to the show?"

Sure he did.

Well, he thought he did.

Just so long as he could put a seat between them.

"Of course, I do. What are we seein'?"

" _The Abduction from the Seraglio_ ," Geoff said, his tone dry.

"The Abduction of the who?"

"Not 'who', Cartwright, 'what'. The _Seraglio_ is a place."

He pulled at his collar. "I knew that."

"It can be my birthday present!" Bella exclaimed, clapping like a little girl. Turning to Geoff, she said, "I hope you don't mind. Little Joe's been _so_ busy, we've hardly seen each other in a week. Maybe you and I can do something later on?"

Geoff took her hand, raised it to his lips, and kissed it. "I await my lady's pleasure. Is it all right if I come back out in a few days and take you for a ride in my carriage?"

No.

Bella glanced at him. She was _sure_ enjoying this.

"Of course, it is. I'm sure little brother will be too busy _working_ to pay me any attention."

"Well, that just proves what they say," the black-haired man remarked.

"What's that?" she asked.

Geoff snorted. "That Joe Cartwright is an idiot." With a nod, he added, "See you around, Cartwright."

As Geoff moved off, Bella turned back to him. Joe saw it coming but with the door at his back there was no escape. She threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly, pressing against him so he could feel every curve.

"Oh, Little Joe, you've made _me_ so happy! We'll have _so_ much fun."

"Have fun doing what?" Adam stopped and asked.

"Joe's going to take me to the _Abduction from the Seraglio_ at the Palace tomorrow night!"

Joe didn't think he'd _ever_ seen his older brother's black brows leap higher. "Oh? Really? Well, that's...wonderful."

"I'm going to go tell Sally!"

Sally was the daughter of another neighbor. She and Bella seemed to have become bosom friends over the course of the party. As Joe watched her go, Adam held out one of the punch cups.

"Here. Drink this down." His brother's hazel eyes danced. "It's spiked by the way."

Joe took it. "Why?"

"Do you know what _The Abduction from the Seraglio_ is?"

He shrugged. "Some kind of play?"

"Oh, yes," Adam said with a smile. "It's a _kind_ of a play. Have you ever heard of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart?"

Of course, he had. He was one of those dead guys whose music his brother liked. Seemed mighty funny to him, all those little notes repeating over and over again and never getting anywhere. It was enough to give a man a headache.

"Sure," he shrugged.

Adam leaned in. "Well, _The Abduction from the Seraglio_ is by Mozart, Joe. It's an opera. That means people sing. Three _hours_ of singing, Joe."

Joe looked at Adam and pulled a face, frowning as his eyebrows ran toward the center. Then he looked at the cup. Downing the punch in one gulp, he headed for more.

He had a feeling he'd better get good and drunk before he took that ride into town.


	11. Chapter 10

TEN

He'd lied to Rory.

Well, not _lied_ , really, but left out the biggest part of the truth. He _had_ needed her to help him hide the gold. He didn't trust the Indians he rode with any more than they trusted him. But there was more to it than that. He'd made some contacts in Bolivia and that's where they were gonna head, but before they went he had some unfinished business to attend to.

Fleet Rowse put the match he'd lit out with his thumb, tossed it in the dirt, and used the toe of his boot to grind it into the ground. Then he looked at the hide tent before him. It was one of three pitched along the hillside near the Paiute graveyard. Rory was in there. Thinks Twice's woman, Spotted Deer, was gonna take care of his sister, making sure she didn't do anything stupid once she realized what he was about.

As he took a drag on his freshly rolled cheroot, Fleet glanced at the sky. If he rode hard he could be in Virginia City in three hours, just about the time the men in the saloons were hitting their saturation point. He was looking for information and it was easiest to get when the ranch hands were out of control. He'd been in town once or twice before and found out that Joe Cartwright had survived the raid on the stages along with that pretty little filly Rory had begged him to spare. The kid had been seen in town with his Pa getting supplies at the mercantile. Rumor was the brat almost died from his injuries.

Now, that would have been a shame.

The outlaw snorted. Revenge might be a dish best served up cold, but he was sure as Hell gonna turn the heat up on that boy before he left the country. Might be, he'd reacquaint the kid with his knife.

That there _pretty_ boy probably had a scar left from the last time they'd met.

Fleet snorted and took another drag. He'd thought about burning the whole lot of them out, but decided that wouldn't do either. There wasn't any pleasure in killing when you couldn't look a man in the eye.

From the talk in the town it was Joe Cartwright the old man prized the most, being the baby in the family and all. The kid escaping from him the last time they met was a blot on an otherwise clean record of killing and he wasn't about to let it stand. When men came to hear that a snot-nosed coddled rich kid had got away from him, why, he'd lose his reputation. Wouldn't no one be afraid of him. No, Joe Cartwright had to die and, if he could orchestrate it, die in such a way that that oldest Cartwright son – the one who'd rescued the kid and taken him from him – went with him.

As Fleet stood there, taking a third drag, his sister Rory came out of the tent with Spotted Deer in tow. Thinks Twice's woman was a handsome Shoshone, taken in a raid by the Paiutes two decades before. Handsome, but hard as nails. Right behind the pair came the little kid the Indian had taken during the raid. Name of Thom. 'Bout thirteen years old. The boy'd cried so long and so hard when they first got to camp that Spotted Deer'd finally struck him. After that, he'd gone silent. It seemed at first that the kid had given up. That he had no fire in him. Now, he wasn't so sure. He'd seen hate quickly masked in the boy's eyes when he stepped out of the tent.

Might make a good warrior after all.

"Fleet," Rory said as she drew close. "Take the boy with you. Take Thom back to Virginia City."

He shook his head. "He ain't mine to choose what to do with. Belongs to Thinks Twice."

"Thom doesn't belong to anyone! Fleet, please. I'm sure he has relatives." She paused as if unsure she should speak the next words. "You were about his age when you were taken. Don't make him go through what you had to."

"The Indians done right by me," he said after a second.

Rory held his gaze. "Really? _Did_ they?"

"Still alive."

There were tears in her eyes. "No. No, you're not. My brother died the moment he decided to go back to the savages who enslaved and used him."

His eyes flicked to Spotted Deer. The Indian woman was standing with her head down, but he could tell by her rigid stance how angry she was. Spotted Deer's English might be broken, but she understood it well enough. Rory had better watch her back once he was gone.

"Is that any way to speak of your hosts?" he asked, his tone ironic.

"How long do you intend to leave me here?"

There was fear in her voice.

Good.

"Long as needs be for me to take care of business."

" _What_ business, Fleet? Not another robbery? We have more money than we can possibly use in a lifetime!"

"I just got me some ends to tie up before we leave Nevada. Ain't no concern of yours what they are."

She paled. "You're going after Joseph Cartwright."

He flipped the cheroot into the grass. "Maybe. Maybe not."

"Fleet, he's _so_ young. Is there no compassion in you at –"

He had her by the front of her blouse. As he pulled her in close, he said, "No, there _ain't._ And don't you forget it. That husband of yours is there in Virginia City. I got me the address. Might be if I can't find Joe Cartwright, I'll just look _him_ up."

His sister stared at him long and hard. "You're a monster," she breathed at last.

Fleet snorted. "That's why I gotta kill Joe Cartwright and maybe all the rest of the Cartwrights. I got me a reputation to protect."

At that moment Thinks Twice arrived. The Indian warrior dismounted and came to their side. He greeted his wife and then turned to him. "The one you are hunting has left the white man's house and is headed for the city."

Stupid kid. He wasn't even gonna have to look for him. "How long ago?"

"I rode as the wind. Perhaps two of the white man's hours."

Fleet nodded. If Joe Cartwright was in for a night on the town, he'd probably be there until ten o'clock or later. With a fresh horse and a spare, they could make it there by that time if not a little sooner.

"Is Shadow Walker waiting?"

Thinks Twice nodded. "You have considered what will happen if you take the boy."

The outlaw sneered. His old friend had _sure_ earned his name. The warrior did nothing without thinking it over half a dozen times. "Just what I _want_ to happen," he replied.

"And what is it you want?" Rory snapped. "What is it really? Revenge? Some sort of sick satisfaction?"

He glanced at the boy behind her, who was staring daggers at the natives, and the his eyes returned to his sister. "It ain't about money, Rory. Its about justice. That snotty rich kid took something from me and I aim to get it back." At her dumbfounded look, he finished, "A man's got his pride."

"A killer has no pride!" she countered sharply.

Fleet's lips curled with a sneer. "You ask old Thom there if that's the truth. You'd kill to get back what was taken from you, wouldn't you, boy?"

"I'd slit the throats of everyone in this camp," Thom shot back.

He looked at Thinks Twice. "See, I told you he's got the makin's of a warrior, didn't I?"

The Indian nodded. "Soon, the boy will ride with me."

"I'll never ride with you! You killed my parents and my sister!" Thom lashed out, shoving the Indian woman aside and going for the older man. "I'll kill you! _I'll kill you all!_ "

The warrior wrapped an arm around the boy and held him as he thrashed and screamed. When Thom's strength was spent, he picked him up and headed for the tent.

"I will join you soon," Thinks Twice said as he ducked inside, dutifully followed by his wife.

A moment later the Indian woman returned and took Rory by the arm. "The boy needs you."

Smart woman, Spotted Deer. She knew his sister couldn't resist.

Defeated, Rory walked with slumped shoulders toward the tent. At the door she turned back. "Please, Fleet. Try to remember who you _were_. Remember that there is such a thing as mercy."

Mercy, he scoffed as his sister disappeared. He knew all about mercy.

It was up to God to have it on his enemies.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe Cartwright pulled at the black tie Adam had wound around his throat in a failed attempt to choke him. No one else seemed to be sweating, but he thought it was awful close in the Palace auditorium. Then again, that might of been due to the fact that Bella was awful close to _him_ , leaning over and holding onto his arm.

He'd lost the battle to keep that seat between them.

They were in the box Pa sometimes rented up by the stage. Turns out big brother Adam had tickets too, only he didn't bother to tell him. Adam was across the way with Valerie Counts, in her parent's private box. Valerie's pa was a banker and he paid for it all the time even if no one was going. Older brother had his hand in the air, keeping time with the singing. Turns out the opera wasn't quite as bad as he'd thought it would be, though it was kind of like watching one of those pantomimes, but with a bunch of people singing . Since nobody was singin' English, he had to figure out the plot from what they were doing. Seems this English woman and her maid were taken by Turks and the woman was gonna be forced to marry the pasha. She already loved this other feller, who was trying to break her out of the pasha's place. He and a friend were goin' to risk bein' beheaded and maybe boiled in oil if they got caught.

Seemed to him they had a mighty fair shake of it since they stood around singing for ten minutes at a time instead of doin' something about it. If it had been him, he'd of had that girl and been hopping that tall fence even if he had to put his hand over her mouth to keep her from singin'.

Act one had gone by quick enough. During intermission – the _first_ one, he was later to find out – he and Bella went out into the lobby to have some punch. At first he had to stifle a laugh at the looks he got. Joe Cartwright, at the opera! But then he started to get mad. He could be cultured if he wanted to! He just didn't want to. Well, not normally. Tonight was different.

Tonight was for Bella.

He'd glared that message at every dandy who snickered when he turned his back.

Bella for her part seemed right at home. That kind of surprised him as she'd never said anything about liking all that screechin' and caterwauling before. She told him her pa was real musical and that when they got to Oregon, he'd bought a piano. She said they all stood around it and sang the kind of music pa liked, which turned out be the same kind of music older brother Adam liked.

It wasn't Sweet Betsy from Pike, he was here to tell you.

When the bell rang, they went back in and took their seats. In the second act, this fellow Pedrillo and the girl who had the funny name of Blonde – funny 'cause she was a redhead – came out and started singing. It was kind of amusing at first since she was tellin' him off and makin' him chase after her. But then... Well, then... Joe swallowed over the lump in his throat. He'd had an idea what this place was supposed to be all about – the pasha's palace – but so far there hadn't been anythin' to tell him if he was right and wrong. Well, Blonde jumped right up behind that there Pedrillo feller and took his hands and put them right on her...

Breasts.

It was then Bella leaned in closer, her own bosom heaving, and whispered in his ear. "Isn't it romantic?"

Romantic?

It was downright scandalous!

He'd tried to make her leave during the second intermission, real afraid of what was comin' in Act Three, but she wouldn't hear of it. Catching Adam on the way past, he'd asked him if it was gonna get any...well...more heated. Adam told him, of course Turkey was hot, but the opera was set at midnight so it had cooled down.

Then Adam eyed him from head to toe, ending up staring at the part below his belt. Older brother had lifted one eyebrow and said, before escorting Valerie back to their box. "Maybe _you_ better cool down too, little brother."

He was gonna kill him!

To his relief the last part of the opera was all about the pasha showing mercy to the lovers, though Pedrillo and Blonde still had a hard time keeping their hands off each other. It kind of confused him. The pasha kept shoutin' about boiling in oil and cutting fingers off and all kinds of torture, and then all of a sudden he just up and let them go! The dime novels he liked made more sense than that! Turns out the fellow named Belmonte was the son of a man who had fought the pasha and destroyed just about everything he owned and the pasha just let him go.

Talk about fiction.

Anyhow, by the time the opera was over his ears were hurtin' and his bottom was tired of sittin' and his head was poundin' from all the lights and noise. He'd thought about takin' Elizabeth over to the International House for a late supper, but was real grateful when she said she just wanted to go home. It was almost midnight, and though he wasn't about to admit to the way he felt, he could tell he still wasn't top notch. It had been near a month since the raids on the stagecoaches and sometimes he went whole days without thinking about how he'd failed all those people.

And about that _other_ girl with the blonde curls.

"Penny for your thoughts," Bella said.

She was seated beside him in the fringed rig. They were on their way back to the Ponderosa. Adam had taken off right before them, only he wasn't headed home. He and Valerie were gonna have that late supper and he said he'd see him in the morning.

Joe looked at her. He managed a grin. "It'll take two."

"I have a nickel. Can I get a conversation for that?"

He wrinkled his nose and apologized. "I'm sorry, Bella."

She was looking right at him. "Sorry for what? Not liking me anymore?"

Joe pulled back on the reins and halted the surrey. "What?"

"I know you don't like to be around me anymore." She blinked and her eyes shone in the moonlight. There were tears in them. "I just remind you of what...happened."

"What are you talkin' about?"

"About the raid!" she snapped as she turned away. "I remind you of all those people who died. Well, I'm sorry I survived!"

He was stunned. Joe turned toward her on the buggy seat. "Bella, you look at me. You look me in the eye."

She hesitated but then did as he said, turning a tear-streaked face toward him. The moon was high and its light stole under the rig's canopy to alight in her hair like fireflies settling in dewy grass. She had a cloak on, but it was partially open and her breasts were showing, pushed tightly together by the corset he knew she was wearing underneath her crimson dress. For a moment he saw that little girl looking at him, the one who had chewed his ear off and been his partner in crime. The little girl who had risked her life to save him not once, but twice. The little girl who, even though she called him 'little brother', he'd thought of for all these years like the little sister he never had.

And that was the problem.

Joe reached out and took her hand. It was trembling.

"Bella, that ain't it. Sure, when I see you I think of that raid. But I don't think about the people who died, I just think of how my prayers were answered when I found out that girl I buried wasn't you. I... I don't know what I'd have done if it _had_ been you."

Her lower lip was trembling too. "Then why have you been avoiding me? And don't deny you have been."

Joe pursed his lips and blew out a breath. "You're right. I have been."

"Why?"

There was a whole gully washer of emotion packed in that single word.

He took her other hand as well. "Bella, there's nothing wrong with you. It's...me."

She frowned. "What do you mean it's you? You aren't making any sense, Little Joe Cartwright. My ma always said a man has to work his way around a thing with a hundred words before one that makes sense can come out."

He laughed and then, at her look, said, "You just sounded like that little girl I met while sitting on my butt in a creek. Always answerin' a question with a question and talkin' about what her ma and pa said." Joe shifted in his seat suddenly uncomfortable. " _That's_ the problem, Bella."

She sniffed. "What?"

She was gonna make him spell it out, wasn't she? "It's just ,well, I don't look at you the same way I did and I feel...guilty about that. I mean, all I can think about is that little girl coming up and hugging me, telling me about all the crazy things she thought and did – about well, my little sister."

That made her smile – a little bit.

"I thought I was your 'older' sister."

"Well, you are now, and that's the problem." He hesitated, not sure what to say. "You know, that opera we just saw?"

She nodded.

He released her hands. Mostly because his were sweating. As he rubbed one on his dress pants, he asked, "You remember when Blonde and Pedrillo were, well, sparkin'?"

A little smile tickled the edge of her lips. It kind of bothered him.

"Yes. I remember."

"Well, you know what he was thinking. That she was beautiful and he..." God! How did he get himself into these things? "And that he...wanted her?"

She was looking right at him.

He winced. She was gonna hate him. "Well, that's the way I...feel about you. But I can't keep from seeing that little girl – my little sister – and it feels... _wrong_." His frown deepened. "I mean, it _is_ wrong. I mean..." Joe sighed. "I don't know what I mean."

She was _still_ staring at him.

A moment later Bella reached out and took his hand. She leaned closer, letting the light play on her exposed skin.

"You know what my Ma always says, Little Joe Cartwright?" she asked, her eyes smiling.

"No, what?"

Bella reached up and ran her fingers through his hair. "Behind every great woman is an tomfool."

Then she kissed him.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam was on his way home. He'd left Sport in the Counts stable during the opera and driven Valerie to the theater in the family's rig. After returning her to her parent's' house and bidding her goodnight, he'd mounted his trusted friend and headed off at a steady trot for the Ponderosa. It was well past two in the morning. With the opera ending so close to midnight, both he and Joe were going to get in late. Knowing their pa, the older man would be in the red chair by the fire having fallen asleep there 'reading'.

As the opera came to mind, Adam couldn't help but smile. He'd watched his little brother all the way through it as their boxes were directly across from each other. Joe had laughed, looked puzzled, then mortified, and finally bored out of his mind. In spite of what Joe thought, at two and a half hours, Mozart's _Abduction_ was one of his shorter works.

It was a sure bet the poor kid would never have survived Don Giovanni!

It had been interesting to observe Joe with Bella. He'd actually had some sympathy for him. It couldn't be easy falling in love with someone who'd been in pigtails and a pinafore the first time you met them. When you were eighteen and eleven, seven years seemed like a lifetime, but he knew plenty of men who were married to women that much younger – and more. Joe's own mother, Marie, had been a good deal younger than their father. So, at eighteen and twenty-five, there was no reason Joe and Bella shouldn't have feelings for each other.

Except that his little brother just couldn't seem to wrap his mind around the fact that Bella was no longer that little girl who had held a rifle on him while he was sitting in the creek by her house.

Sport snorted, suddenly bringing Adam's attention back to the road. It was unlikely he would run into any trouble on his way home, but one could never know that for sure. The black-haired man patted the animal's neck as he kept moving, his attention focused now where it should be – on the road ahead instead of his lovesick little brother's woes.

Adam hadn't gone a half -mile when Sport shied again, snorting nervously this time as if sensing danger. The man in black drew his pistol as he continued on, wondering what it was he would find when he turned the next bend.

Unfortunately, it was the fringed surrey his brother had been driving.

Careful to keep his eye to the dark trees lining both sides of the road, Adam dismounted and approached the empty rig. There didn't seem to be any signs of a struggle. He peered into the surrey, seeking to penetrate the dark shadows filling it. One thing was odd. It was completely empty. There were no blankets inside. He was certain Joe would have brought plenty with them to keep Bella warm on the chilly ride back to the house. With a frown, Adam hopped down from the running board and started into the trees. He was walking briskly when something happened that made him run.

A woman screamed.

As he broke through the leaves and dangling branches, a horrific scene unfolded before his eyes, glimpsed as it was through the darkness of a cloudy night. The woman was Bella and she was shrieking. Her hands were formed into fists and she was pummeling a tall man with them. He was hard to see as he was dressed all in black and had a bandana mask covering half his face.

Joe lay unmoving at her feet.

Adam watched the man become aware of his presence. Instantly, the outlaw caught Bella by the wrists and twisted her arms, driving her to the ground. It was a show of the man's utter and complete control over the situation.

' _I can kill her anytime,'_ his stare seemed to say. _'Just like I killed your brother.'_

Like he _might_ have killed his brother.

Adam drew a steadying breath as Joe moaned and his fingers moved, clutching at the grass.

Thank God!

"Let them go!" Adam demanded as he moved into the clearing, his gun pointed at the man's chest.

The outlaw lifted Bella and swung her in front of him like a shield.

"Shoot me, shoot her," he snarled.

Adam frowned. There was something familiar about the highway robber – about the way he moved – but he just couldn't place it. "Let her go!" he repeated. "And get away from my brother!"

"Sure thing, Cartwright. This is just a warning. Any time, anywhere, I can take him. And I _will_." The man scoffed. "I'll just let you stew on it a bit first. You and that pa of yours."

"Who are you?" he demanded, beginning to fear that he knew only _too_ well.

"Ask your little brother when and _if_ he wakes up." The man shoved Joe with his boot as he spoke. "Sorry about that second knock on the head the kid took. I've heard that can cause real damage. Make a man an idiot, some say. Though I'd say this one was already halfway there."

Adam was breathing hard. Anger pumped through his veins like a white-hot fire.

"Rowse," he breathed.

"The devil you thought you'd defeated," the villain sneered. "Well, here's new for you. When Lucifer fell, he just became stronger. Got himself a _whole_ planet and millions of souls to damn to Hell." Fleet Rowse began to back up, dragging Bella with him. She was looking at him, her eyes opened wide and showing over the outlaw's hand that was wrapped around her mouth.

"Let her go! Rowse, I swear if you hurt her..."

"Maybe I will. Maybe I won't." The outlaw sneered. "I'd advise you see to your little brother first, Cartwright. He's bleedin' out."

Joe hadn't moved since that first time. It was possible what Rowse said was true. Adam's eyes had adjusted and he could see a little better, but it was impossible to tell what darkened Joe's suit coat – shadows or blood.

"If my brother dies you will be hunted down, Rowse, and strung from the highest tree. I'll personally see to it!"

"You won't need to hunt me down. If that molly-coddled pup lives, you'll be seeing me again – when I come to take him." Rowse snorted. "Kind of hope he does. It's too easy this way."

The outlaw began to back away, taking Bella with him. Adam watched impotently. There was nothing he could do. If he shot at Rowse, he was likely to hit her.

Besides, his brother could be dying.

"Bella!" Adam called as the pair disappeared. "We'll find you! Take heart! Bella!"

The only thing that answered him was silence.

The black-haired man took a step toward his brother and was stopped as a bullet struck the ground near his boot.

"Anywhere, Cartwright. Any time!" Fleet Rowse called out from the darkness. "You can't be with him every minute of the night and day."

Adam waited and then took another step forward. When no new bullets flew, he knelt beside his brother. Taking hold of Joe's shoulder, he rolled him over

And gasped.

There was a thin dark line drawn in blood across Joe's throat. It was dripping and there was a sizeable pool forming beneath him. Terrified, Adam pulled the tie from the neck of his dress shirt and wrapped it around his brother's throat, hoping to staunch the flow. He couldn't tell in this light how deep the cut was, or if it was that which had made the pool underneath Joe. There could be other cuts.

Probably _were_ other cuts.

As he lifted his brother up, preparing to carry him back to the rig, Adam's eyes alighted on the missing blankets from the rig. They were spread underneath a tree. On them was the impression of two bodies. Apparently Joe and Bella had come to an understanding about their feelings for one another.

Just in time to have a madman take it all away.


	12. Chapter 11

ELEVEN

Ben Cartwright stirred in his chair by the fire. He turned around and looked and only them realized that Hop Sing must have sneaked in before going to bed to tend it. It was nothing more than embers now, but still gave off a good amount of heat. As the older man sat there, thinking about his friend and cook and all Hop Sing had done for him over the years, the tall case clock by the door chimed the hour.

It was four.

Ben scowled. He hadn't heard Adam or Joe and Bella come in, though that didn't mean they hadn't. They could have tiptoed in and left him sleeping. Hoss had wanted to stay up with him, but he had declined. The big man commented before he went that he was sorry he wouldn't get to see his little brother's face when he and Bella came in from their night at the opera.

'Joe'll probably have that look. You know, Pa? The one a deer gets when you got it in your sights?'

He'd laughed, of course, and then taken a seat by the fire and picked up the book Kate had given him. It was called 'Sylvia's Lovers' and was a love story set in a small coastal town against the broad background of the Napoleonic wars. While not a sea-faring novel, the sea and the men who sailed it played a large part in it and she had thought he would enjoy it. Kate was somewhat fascinated by his years at sea and, though she tended to color it with a little bit more romance than it deserved, he found it charming that she was trying to understand him. She was a handsome woman, about ten years younger than him, with sparkling eyes and a deep throaty laugh. She was unlike any of his wives and he found that intriguing, even going so far as to wonder what _her_ son would have looked like.

Rising from his chair, Ben laid the book down and then straightened and yawned. He wondered if the boys had decided to stay in town for the night. He knew both Adam and Joe had talked of taking the young ladies they were escorting to the International House for a late supper after the opera. Maybe it had been _so_ late they had rented rooms.

One for the ladies and one for themselves – he hoped.

As he stood there, considering the daunting task of raising three healthy young men to responsible adulthood, the older man realized he was peckish. There was no point in waiting up any longer, so he might as well go get a snack and then follow Hoss to bed. Stepping into the kitchen, Ben went to the ice box. There was plenty of food left from the party the night before, so much so he had offered to let Hop Sing have a few days off. The man from China had thanked him politely and refused. Hop Sing said with the winter almost come and Christmas so near, he had more than enough to do. He had smiled and nodded his head, but he thought he knew the truth. Hop Sing was very fond of Bella and he didn't want to miss a day while she was here.

The older man smiled as he reached for the cheese. Bella certainly was a lovely young woman. Her parents had taught her well. She was polite and well-mannered, but full of life and spunk at the same time and, really, a perfect match for Joe. It worried him though, that their feelings for each other might have been intensified by the ordeal they had passed through together. Bella was still quite young. As Ben placed the cheese plate on the table, he thought about his son at eighteen. That was the year Joe had fallen in love with Julia Bulette, who had been near his mother's age. While he had challenged his youngest's choice, in the end he had come to see that what the pair felt for each other was real.

As real as what Bella felt for Joe, who was seven years _her_ senior.

The older man had just closed the ice box door and turned to the larder to retrieve a loaf of bread when he heard horse's hooves striking the hard packed earth of the yard. Two horses at least, so it must be the rig. Putting the bread down beside the cheese on the block table, Ben opened the side door and stepped out – just in time to see Adam kick in the _front_ door and carry something, or _someone_ , into the great room.

The older man rounded quickly. He made his way through the kitchen and back into the great room, and emerged onto a scene of pure chaos. Adam was shouting 'Pa!" at the top of his lungs as he made a beeline for the settee. Hoss was standing at the top of the stairs, his hair and night shirt askew, running a sleepy hand over his stubbled chin, muttering some kind of a reply. And from behind him – from Hop Sing's room – there came a long string of emotionally charged Cantonese. No doubt their cook wanted to know what was going on.

So did he.

"Adam! What is this? Son, what has –"

The fire's light was low, but it was enough for him to see that his eldest son's dress suit was soaked with blood.

Adam's young face was grim. "It was Fleet Rowse, Pa. He attacked Joe and Bella on the road. Bella's...been taken." He swallowed hard. "Joe. Joe's..."

Ben's eyes went to the silent figure on the settee and then came back to land on Adam's coat. "Is that blood your brother's?" he asked, breathless.

"Lord Almighty!" Hoss exclaimed as he came alongside Joe. Looking down, he asked, "Is he still breathin'?"

Another time he might have chided his middle son for taking the Lord's name in vain, but this time he didn't. It wasn't being taken in _vain._

It was uttered as a prayer.

Sinking to his knees beside the settee, Ben pulled the black tie away that circled Joe's throat, revealing the long cut beneath. Some scabbing had occurred, but blood was still forming along the edge.

"Is this where all the blood is from?" he asked, indicating Joe's clothes, as he tossed the sodden cloth aside.

"I honestly don't know, Pa." Adam hesitated as Hop Sing came into the room. One look was all it took and the man from China was out of it again, headed to the kitchen for water and bandages. "I couldn't see. It was too dark." His eldest paused and then headed for the door. "You take care of him, Pa. I'll go get Doc Martin."

"You ain't doin' any such thing, older brother," Hoss said forcefully as he strode across the room and caught Adam by the shoulder. "You're all done in. You let me go."

Adam shook his head. "You need to raise the hands. Someone has to go after Bella." His son visibly paled. "There's no telling what that monster is capable of."

Bella's name must have registered somewhere deep within Joseph's subconscious mind for his son began to writhe, calling out the girl's name. Ben rose and sat down at his side. Gripping Joe's arms with his hands, he spoke clearly and evenly. "Joseph! It's your pa. Listen to me. You need to calm down. You're hurt, boy. We don't know how bad. If you move about, you'll only lose more blood. Joseph!"

Joe's movements lessened. His eyes opened without focus and whispered, "Pa?"

Ben caught the hand he raised. "I'm here, boy."

"Pa...it was...Rowse. He's..." Joe began to thrash again and the blood on his throat flowed anew. "He's...got Bella."

There was fear in that voice and a deep sense of helplessness, both so unlike his son. "We'll find her, Joe, I promise."

"Pa?"

It was Hoss. He was standing behind the settee, waiting. "What do you want me to do?"

"Get dressed, son. Go to town and find Paul. Send him on and then locate Roy if you can. Check his office first. By the time you get there, he'll probably be up and at work. Bring him here." Ben turned to look at his son again. Joseph was writhing, lost in a netherworld of pain and despair. Turning to his eldest, he said, "Adam, I know you want to go after Bella, but I need you here. Your brother..." The older man choked. "Joe needs us _both_."

Adam's dark brows knit together in the middle as he considered his request. A few seconds later, his son nodded. "Sure thing, Pa. Do you want to leave Joe on the settee or get him up to his room?"

At that moment Hop Sing returned, carrying a steaming basin of water. There were towels and strips of linen thrown over the arm of his silk shirt. Ben stood up to give him room.

"I think we better put Joe in the guest room for now. I'm afraid to move him too much until we know the full extent of his injuries."

Hop Sing was already opening the door. "I get room ready," he said quietly as he disappeared.

It was a sad thing that, when disaster struck, that they were able to fall into this kind of well-practiced rhythm so quickly. It was a simple truth that the West was a harsh mistress who cared little whom she hurt or discarded. All of his boys had been injured, and more than once. Sometimes it had been serious. But this? Ben's eyes returned to the cut on his young son's throat, which Hop Sing was cleaning.

Adam had been wrong.

'Monster' was too _good_ a word for Fleet Rowse.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam Cartwright, dressed once again in his black on black day clothes, paced the carpeted area in front of the hearth like a caged mountain lion. Hoss had come back with Paul Martin in tow and the news that Roy was not far behind. The sheriff had been in his office as their father predicted and when he'd heard that they'd had contact with Fleet Rowse, the lawman was up and on the move. Roy said he was going to find a half-dozen men willing to be deputized and then he, along with those men, would head their way. Upon his return Hoss had followed a jabbering Hop Sing into the kitchen and returned shortly with a plate of sandwiches and a pot of coffee. The big man was seated in the blue velvet chair by the fire now, staring at the front door.

The coffee was gone, but the sandwiches remained untouched.

"When do you s'pose the Doc's gonna get here, Adam?" he asked.

Adam shrugged. "There's no telling. Someone else could have caught up to Paul before he left town. Maybe with a...more dire need."

It was hard to imagine just _what_ that might be.

While it appeared all the cuts – and there were a good dozen – that Joe had were superficial, they had been done in such a way as to let as much blood as possible. Under normal circumstances, while he would hurt like the Dickens, Joe could have been up and around tomorrow, albeit having to take it easy since he would be weak. But these weren't normal circumstances. Joe had just recovered from severe dehydration and a blow to the head. He was _already_ weak.

Adam's lips pursed. Not that that was going to stop him.

Bella was missing.

The man in black's eyes went to the guest room. The door was closed. Behind it, a heated argument was going on.

Adam winced at their father's voice, which was raised in anger. "Paul better hurry," he said as he looked at his brother. "Pa might just kill Joe before he gets here."

It was a lame joke, but he was too tired for a better one.

"You s'pose little brother's tryin' to get out of bed?" the big man asked.

"Do you suppose he _isn't_?"

Hoss nodded as he drew in a breath of air and released it _very_ slowly. "I hate to think of that little gal bein' out there alone with a skunk like Rowse. It's about all I can do to sit still, even knowin' Roy's on his way." He looked toward the door of the guest room as well. "I cain't even imagine what Little Joe's feelin'."

Hoss hadn't seen the blanket spread out under the tree. He didn't know the _half_ of it.

Adam ran a hand along the back of his neck. "You know, short of hogtying Joe, there is no way Pa's going to keep him from riding with that posse."

"Or followin' it."

He nodded. Somehow they were going to have to convince their father to let their brother go. Joe riding with the posse – weak as he was – was bad enough, but Joe riding out after Fleet Rowse alone was even _worse_.

"What do you think Rowse took Bella for?"

He'd wondered that at the time. She would certainly be a detriment to him moving with ease. He was afraid the reason was only too clear.

She was bait.

Bait for Joe.

At that moment the door to guest room opened. Their father slammed it behind him and stormed into the room.

"Your younger brother is the most stubborn, immovable, and _inflexible_ creature the Good Lord ever created!" he proclaimed as he stomped over to his chair and threw himself into it. "That boy is going to kill himself!"

Adam shot Hoss a look. "Pa?" When his father looked up, Adam held up both hands. "Promise to hear me out?"

Those near-black eyes, ringed with weariness and frustration, fastened on him. "I suppose _you_ are going to tell me that you agree with your brother? That you think I should let Joseph go with Roy?"

He blinked. "Well, yes."

The older man flung his arm out and pointed toward the downstairs bedroom. "Your brother is lying in there was an four inch cut across his throat, not to mention more small nick and cuts on his body than I could count, and you are trying to tell me that I should let him mount a horse and ride off into danger when he can barely stand on his feet?" he growled. "Of all the hair-brained, _foolhardy_ ideas I have ever –"

Adam waved a finger. "Uh, Pa..."

"WHAT?"

He stood and walked over to where his father was seated and took a seat on the table in front of him. After a moment, he said, "Pa, I need that promise."

The older man was sitting with his hands knit together before him and his fingers pressed against his lips. " _What_ promise?" he demanded.

"To hear me out – without interrupting."

Hoss cleared hi s throat. "Pa, Adam's got somethin' important to say. You need to listen to him."

Pa's dark eyes went from the big man to him. Then he leaned back with a sigh. "It seems I am outnumbered."

"It ain't that we're tryin' to gang up on you, Pa," his middle brother said. "We're as worried about Little Joe as you are."

"I know that, son, and I appreciate it." His father turned to him then. "All right, Adam, speak your piece."

Ah, yes. And just _how_ to go about that?

"First of all, Pa, I completely agree with you."

"About"

"Joe _is_ stubborn, immovable, and inflexible, _but_ he's usually only that way when he knows he's right."

His father forehead was furrowed. " _And?"_

"And Joe is _right_ , Pa, when he says he's responsible for Bella. You have to admit it. Not only was he escorting her home when she was taken, but most likely Rowse wouldn't have taken her if not for Joe. You know how Joe is when he thinks there's been an injustice, or if he knows someone he loves is in danger. There's just no stopping him."

His father's eyes flicked to the closed door. "Your brother is barely well enough to get out of bed, let alone go traipsing off with a posse –"

"Better _with_ a posse then alone, and you know that's just what he'll do – sneak out and go off alone. Unless you are willing to actually tie him to the bed, it's going to happen the minute your back is turned." Adam's gaze moved to the door behind which his brother lay. Worry plowed lines in his brow.

No.

Joe wouldn't. Would he?

Not this soon.

Returning to the case he was laying out, the man in black said, "At least if Joe's with Roy – and we go along – we can protect him."

Adam knew that the older man saw the wisdom in his words, even though Pa's scowl hadn't lifted. Then, it did and – this was the biggest surprise – his father laughed.

"Did I say something funny?"

The older man shook his head. "You sound like your mother, only she was talking about _another_ young hothead."

Hoss leaned forward. He loved family stories. "Was that you, Pa?" the big man asked with a smile.

Ben nodded. "There was this man. He was a friend. Someone accused him of embezzling from the company he worked for. He challenged them and was beaten for it – soundly. I was angry at the injustice." He smiled. "No, I was _incensed._ I headed out the door, intending to take the men who had accused him down, and ended up being escorted home myself by the constabulary, barely able to walk. The next day I was ready to set out again on my own, regardless of my injuries. Your mother, Adam, God bless her, encouraged me to go."

His black brows popped up. "She did _what?"_

The older man chuckled. "She told me to go and that I was right – I would be _so_ much better off if I went alone. After all, she said, what did I need the law for? The constable and his men would only get in my way with their guns and clubs and the might of the state of Massachusetts behind them. She kept talking and talking until she convinced me that I would be better off joining with them instead of trying to work against them." He paused, and his voice choked a little. "She probably saved my life."

It was sad. His mother wasn't even a _distant_ memory for him.

Just a void.

"So, you understand what I'm saying then, Pa?"

"You're saying that it would be better to let your brother go with Roy and have someone to watch out for him, than to deny him going and force him to sneak off on his own." He paused. "Point conceded."

Well, _that_ had gone better than he could have hoped.

"I'll tell Joe." Adam rose. Just as he did, Hop Sing came around the corner bearing a loaded tray. He was headed for Joe's temporary room.

"Little Joe no have supper, breakfast, _or_ dinner," the Chinese man announced. "Number three son too skinny as is. Take him soup. _Make_ him eat."

Adam smiled. "I was just going in to talk to him, Hop Sing, but I think you're right." He glanced at his father. "Joe needs to keep up his strength. You tell him I'll be in to get the tray in a few minutes, all right?"

Hop Sing nodded as he reached for the door latch. A moment later he stepped inside the spare room, closing the door behind him. Adam had barely had enough time to turn back toward their father when the door flew open again to admit the Chinese man into the room. He was shouting in high-pitched Cantonese.

Their father was on his feet immediately. "English, Hop Sing. English, please!"

Hop Sing's eyes were round as the bowl on the tray. "Window open! Little Joe's clothes gone. _Little Joe_ gone!"

The three men stared at one another.

"Good God!" their father said at last. "It's my fault. I told him there was nothing on God's green earth that could persuade me to let him go with the posse."

"And Joe bein' Joe, he just had to leap before lookin'," Hoss sighed as he stood up. "I'll go saddle up the horses."

"Adam?"

"Yes, Pa?"

"You go with Hoss. I'll wait here for Roy."

"Yes, sir." He turned to go, but his father caught his arm. In the older man's eyes was real fear. "Adam, find Joe. Find him quickly and bring him home. Bring them _both_ home."

"I'll do my best, Pa," he said.

He just hoped his 'best' was enough.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe hadn't left the area of the ranch house yet. He'd slipped out of the window and gone to the stable. Taking Cochise out, he'd tethered him a little ways off in the trees where no one could see him. Then he crossed over to the bunkhouse and disappeared into its cast shadow. He was waiting for his brothers, and maybe his father, to leave the house and go looking for him. He figured _they_ would figure that he was gonna take his horse and light out for where Adam found him. Most likely, the three of them would head straight for that patch of land without even looking for tracks. Joe wrinkled his nose and pursed his lips. Skippin' out had been kind of bold and kind of stupid. He knew if he was lucky that he would gain – maybe – a few hours lead at most, and knew as well with the way he was feeling, that his pa and brothers would probably catch that up right quick. Still, that hour or two would given him time to find Fleet Rowse first. The outlaw had taunted him as he cut him, telling him his plans for Bella. Rowse said he was gonna give her to someone named Shadow Walker to be his woman. Joe was pretty sure the outlaw was headed for the area of the old Paiute graveyard. That was where he'd said his sister was. Along with the boy stolen from the stage.

He'd told him so he would come after him.

Joe swallowed and ran the back of his sleeve over his forehead, driving the sweat back from his eyes. Fleet Rowse knew him all too well. The outlaw knew there was nothing that would stop him from following. It was just a game to Rowse, making him suffer more before he took him out. The curly-haired man also knew, weak as he was from blood loss, that if he met Fleet on his own terms, it would be the end of both him _and_ Bella. He had to take the man by surprise somehow. And much as he might want his pa and his brothers by his side, he was glad they weren't here. One hostage to fate was more than enough. He wasn't going to chance them getting captured or killed.

And he couldn't leave Rowse alive to carry out his threats.

Joe eased back into the shadows as the door to the ranch house opened and the three men stepped out. Adam and Hoss had their gear in hand and were headed for the barn. His pa walked slowly behind them, as if he had a ball and chain dragging on his leg, weighing him down. While his brothers went in to saddle their horses, Joe watched his father walk over to the hitching rail. The older man placed a shaking hand on it and stared toward town. Then his chin dropped to his chest.

Pa was praying. Praying for _him_.

It was almost enough to make Joe step out of the shadows and show himself.

Almost.

But, he couldn't. He knew, if he did, pa would never let him go. Pa would say, and probably rightly too, that he was too weak to take on someone like Rowse no matter how or why he felt driven to do it. But he couldn't let it go. Bella was _his_ responsibility and he couldn't leave her in the hands of that madman one more minute than was absolutely necessary. Joe leaned against the side of the bunkhouse and closed his eyes as he listened to the thunder of his brothers' horses taking off. To the tune of that familiar nose, dark images flashed through his mind – Rowse bending over him with the knife in his hand, slowly dragging it across his throat, his arms, his chest, using the shining blade to slice his flesh in a dozen different places. He heard Bella scream and saw her hammering on the fiend's back with her fists, shouting that he had to 'stop!' Then he watched helplessly as Rowse backhanded her, sending her flying. Her saw her hit the ground. There was a little 'oomph' and Bella lay there, unmoving. He'd been so angry that even bleedin' his life out, he'd found the strength to leapt at Rowse, his fists flying.

That was when the villain pistol-whipped him.

And it was over.

Peering around the corner of the bunkhouse again, Joe saw his father heading back inside. He knew the older man would pace the floor and worry – not only about him, but about all of them – bringing more white hairs to that head of his. Hop Sing would try to talk to him and Pa would probably bite the cook's head off and then apologize and accept some food. Pa would sit there stewin' until the wee hours of the morning and then fall asleep in the chair.

Joe sighed. No matter how many times that scene played out, and no matter _how_ bad it made him feel to know he'd caused his pa to worry and fret, there was that moment when you came in the door – when Pa looked like he was ready to tan your hide and hang you out to dry – that was one of the most precious things he knew in his life. His pa would stomp over and stare at him, and then take hold of him in the fiercest grip – all of the raw power and energy of the man channeled into the arms that were wrapped around him.

There was no safer place in the world.

Joe sniffed and ran the back of his hand under his nose. That was for later. Now it was time to saddle up Cooch and get movin'. He'd ride east first and then straight up to the Paiute graveyard, stayin' away from the road. Fleet Rowse would be there, he knew, waitin' for him.

God willing, he would find Rowse before Rowse found him.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Several hours had passed since Adam and Hoss headed out in pursuit of their headstrong youngest brother during which time Ben Cartwright had paced the floor in front of the hearth, yelled at Hop Sing and apologized, eaten a bite of food and then, to his cook's displeasure, begun to pace again. He supposed a man should consider the consequence of the type of woman he fell in love with. When the blood ran hot, _thinking_ was about the last thing he did. It was all about impulse, about how that woman made you _feel_ and how much you wanted to possess her, and not about the kind of child she might produce. He'd known when he met Marie that she was, to say the lest, spirited. When she was angry, she smoldered like a match dropped in slightly damp brush, only to explode unexpectedly as if there had been a hidden charge deep buried within it. The New Orleans' beauty seldom stopped to think, but reacted as if she had been thinking for a week or more and _knew_ that instantaneous choice was the only one she _could_ make. When Marie was confronted – old there was another way and it was wiser – she'd shout and argue and insist she knew best. All together, she was a most difficult woman and he had loved her more than his own life.

Just as he loved her son.

Ben walked to the front door and opened it. He went to sit on the table in front of the office window and gazed out the way his older sons had gone. Adam, God bless him, was like _his_ mother – steady and reliable. A good man who thought things out and acted on them in a reasonable amount of time. Hoss, like Inger, was a gentle soul, always looking on the bright side, always trying to be helpful.

Joseph Francis Cartwright was another matter all together.

Everything he had loved in Marie was there – the boy's smile, the mischievous spark in his green eyes; his ebullient, unbreakable spirit. And that laugh! There was nothing like that boy's laugh. But there was a dark side to Joe. He'd seen it even before his mother had died in his youngest's obstinate nature, in the temper tantrums he threw; in that lower lip that jutted out as the little boy's body went rigid. _'Stubborn'_ , he had called him just that night. ' _Unmovable_ '.

"As the mountains," Ben muttered to himself.

He'd promised Joseph's mother on her deathbed that he would take care of their boy and rear him up to be a superior man. He'd succeeded in part. Joseph _was_ a superior man. It was the 'taking care of' part he was worried about.

It worried him that Joseph was so much like his mother that he too wouldn't live to see the high side of thirty.

"Mistah Ben need come in out of cold," Hop Sing said softly.

Ben turned to find his old friend standing in the open doorway.

"I'll be in shortly, Hop Sing."

"Staring into distance not make sons come home sooner."

He snorted. "I know that. Somehow, though, it makes me feel closer to them."

"Little Joe bad boy."

Ben smiled. They _both_ still thought of Joe as a 'boy'. As 'little' Joe. His youngest was twenty-four now and far from being a boy – though his hasty actions often belied that fact. The truth was Joseph didn't need his permission for anything anymore. It was a sign of his three sons' respect, that they deferred to him as often as they did.

The older man rose to his feet. "You and I have to stop thinking of that young man as a 'boy', Hop Sing. Hard as it is. Joe's a very capable man now and while I despair at times, he has learned to think things through before..."

Ben's voice trailed off.

Terror gripped him.

"Mistah Ben sick?" his cook asked, concerned.

Joe _did_ think things through now. _Obviously_ , he would have known that his brothers would take off after him the moment they discovered he was missing.

Good God!

Joseph had been here all along, listening and watching as they left the house and his brothers took off – while _he_ moped and brooded and paced the floor. Joe hadn't gone back to where Fleet Rowse had attacked the rig, but gone some other way – perhaps to some place the villain had told him _during_ the prior attack that he would be.

"Hop Sing, saddle Buck!" he shouted as he headed for the house.

"What about Sheriff Roy? You no be here when he come?"

"I can't wait. Joseph didn't head back toward town."

Hop Sing was following a few steps behind him like a duckling. "Where boy go then? Where you go?"

Ben halted in midstride and they almost collided. Where _was_ he going to go? He thought a moment. The last time Fleet Rowse had darkened their door step, kidnapping Joe and demanding a ransom, the man had set the Paiute graveyard as a meeting place.

It was as good a place to start as any.

"The Paiute graveyard, Hop Sing. Tell Roy to send half the men after Adam and Hoss and the other half after me. Joe's too weak to stop Rowse on his own. We have to find him before its too late."

The man from China nodded and headed for the barn to do as he asked. As he did, Ben strode toward the house where his gear and gun were. At the door he stopped and looked up toward the sky.

"I promised you, Marie, that I would take care of our son and I will, but... if you can give me a little help I would appreciate it.

"Just like you, my love, that son of yours is a handful and a half!"


	13. Chapter 12

TWELVE

Fleet Rowse had entered the tent and was staring hard at the feisty gal who'd parked herself between him and his sister and the Parrish boy. It had taken a moment, but he'd recognized the little hellion as the child who had thwarted him five years before; the one who led Adam Cartwright through the snow to rescue his little brother. He'd thought she was just some pretty thing Joe Cartwright was sparkin', but now he knew she was _so_ much more – just as he knew her presence in Thinks Twice's tent meant he had even greater control over the hotheaded young man he was hell-bent to make pay for what his cussedness had cost him.

"You're not taking Thom anywhere!" she declared.

Fleet rolled the match he was chewing from one side of his mouth to the other. She'd amused him at first. Now she was gettin' plain tirin'.

"You're gonna get out of my way, or you'll regret it, sister," he threatened.

He had to admit she was handsome as a wild filly, with hair the color of ripe wheat and pert little breasts that heaved above the corset line. He liked her spirit too. Seemed she weren't afraid of nothin'.

Of course, that was mighty _stupid_ when it came to him.

"He's terrified," she countered, "can't you see? Leave Thom alone. He's just a boy!"

Fleet snorted. Just like _he'd_ been a boy when Red Pony's men had come along and snatched him from _his_ folks.

Best thing that could have happened to him.

The outlaw moved forward until he towered over the petite girl. She weren't no bigger than a minute – if that.

"This is the way I see it. You can move aside and let me take Thom here to his new Pa, or I can move you aside and do the same thing." He let his words dangle for a few seconds. "Gonna be easier the first way."

The girl stiffened her back. "I am not going to – "

"Bella." Fleet's eyes flicked to Rory. His sister had moved forward and placed a hand on the girl's shoulder. "It's not worth it," she said softly. "You can't stop him."

His lips curled in a sneer. "I'd listen to your elders if I was you."

Joe Cartwright's girlfriend scowled. He had to keep himself from chucklin' at her. She was a match for that one all right, just as stubborn and _just_ as stupid.

"Are you going to bring Thom back?" she countered sharply.

He shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. The boy ain't mine. He belongs to Thinks Twice."

"I don't belong to anyone!" The 'boy' in question, who had been standing by silently, had grown a pair and shouted. "And certainly not to any filthy savage!"

He was a cute kid. With pale hair and skin and the look of an overprotected son.

That was all about to end.

"You ain't got no choice, boy," Fleet growled. "You go with Thinks Twice or I'll shoot you on the spot." To emphasize the threat, he drew his gun.

"That would be murder!" Bella declared.

Fleet tipped his hat. "Yes, ma'am."

Bella seemed shaken by his response. Her voice trembled as she spoke and lost some of its fire. "Don't...don't you have a conscience? Don't you _care_ that you will go to Hell?"

He scoffed. "Heaven ain't for the likes of me. I ain't bowed me before no man and I don't intend to bow before no _God_."

"Then you're damned," she breathed.

Fleet gave her a little bow. "And _damn_ proud of it."

"There's nothing we can do to stop him," Rory said.

" _I'll_ stop him," Thom growled, showing more grit.

He eyeballed the boy. Maybe there was something to him more than a milquetoast city slicker. If so, Thinks Twice would have to break and rebuild that spirit, just like Red Pony had done with him. As his eyes returned to the blonde girl, Fleet noted Bella was holding the boy's hand. It seemed she'd had come to like Thom in the short time they'd been cooped up together.

He wondered if Cartwright would be jealous.

"Here's what I'll do," the outlaw drawled, hiding a sneer. "If you help me kill Joe Cartwright, I'll let Thom go. How's that sound? Fair enough?"

The spitfire's golden brows knit together in the middle. "I won't help you do any such thing!"

"Your choice," he shrugged. A second later that slow savage smile crept across his thin lips. "'Course I'm gonna kill Cartwright anyhow. But if you lead him to me, I'll let the boy go."

"I would never do that!" Bella stated flatly.

"That's what I figured," he sighed as he took a step toward her.

"Fleet," his sister breathed, "what are you going to do?"

"First thing, I'm gonna take this here boy to Thinks Twice so he can start Thom's 'education'. Then..." He turned to Bella and fixed her with his cold stare. "I'm gonna set me a trap. Joe Cartwright's bound to be on my trail by now and I'm bettin' that older brother of his is on _his_ trail. I'm gonna give 'em somethin' worth fightin' for."

"Fleet, why?" Rory protested. "You have me. You have the money. We can go to South America and the law can't touch you. Why remain here? Why take the chance?"

Fleet shook his head. Rory just didn't understand. It wasn't about money or a fine place to live. And what would he do with a life spent not lookin' over his shoulder for the law? It was about makin' things right. About settin' the record _straight._ About provin' to the people in these parts that _he_ was top of the totem pole, not some scrawny featherweight pampered son of a rich man who had made a fool of him and forced him to flee the country.

It was about makin' the Cartwrights pay and pay _dearly_ for what they done.

The only question was whether he killed one or _all_ of them.

Fleet said nothing. His eyes met hers and his sister backed away. A second later he shifted his gaze to the little blonde filly in front of him who was blocking access to the boy.

"Well?"

Bella shot a glance at Thom. To give the kid credit, he stepped past her and said, "I'll go with you. Just don't hurt the women."

For a split second Fleet hesitated as the past he had tried hard to forget dashed before his eyes like a herd of wild mustangs. He saw himself being snatched from his home and heard his own voice – high and tense like this kid's – screamin' for his pa and brothers. He saw himself crouchin' in his own filth, huddled in a skin tent away from light and water and food, slowly starvin' and dyin' of thirst and being told the _only_ thing that would bring relief would be to do as he was told. And last of all, he felt the dirt and stones cuttin' into his hands and knees as he crawled out of that hellhole into the waitin' arms of Red Pony who became his whole world when he fed and washed him and gave him water.

When the old Indian chief made him his son.

That's what Thom was in for.

Fleet sniffed. He spit the chawed matchstick out of his mouth. As the boy passed him, he put a hand on his shoulder and directed him out of the hide tent. Thinks Twice and his woman were waitin' outside for their 'son'.

Hell had a new inmate.

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Joe's head jerked up and he caught himself just before he fell out of the saddle. Cooch was looking back at him, his black eyes wide with a question. Leaning forward, the curly-haired man patted his old friend's neck. "I'm okay, Cooch. Just takin' a little rest."

His horse snorted and stamped his foot, not fooled in the slightest.

He'd passed the line shack a ways back and was getting close to the Paiute graveyard. A few minutes before he had spotted the signs of at least one fire, maybe two. Since Rowse traveled in the company of Indians, it made sense the outlaw would be camped out with some of them. There was strength in numbers.

Something he should have considered before taking off on his own.

Joe was torn. If it _was_ Rowse up ahead, then he wanted more than anything to sneak into the camp, find Bella and Aurora, and free them. However, if the outlaw _did_ have Indians with him – even one or two – then chances were he would fail in the attempt and get both of them killed. The smartest thing would be to turn around and head back to the ranch house for help. Roy was probably there by now with a posse. Maybe Adam and Hoss too if they'd realized he'd fooled them and turned around. And Pa...

Joe closed his eyes. Pa.

Pa was gonna be _so_ mad.

He could hear the older man now. 'Much as you may want to think you are, young man, you are not a one man army!'

Joe put a hand to his neck and felt the bandana he had wound about his throat. The cloth was wet with blood. All the other cuts he'd suffered were smartin' to beat the band and several of them felt hot, as if infection might be setting in.

"What am I doin' out here, Cooch?" he pleaded. "I ain't got the strength to blow a feather off a hen."

At that moment Joe heard a sound. Unsure of what it was, he dismounted and quickly led his horse into a thicket of trees. They'd been through a lot together and sometimes he thought Cochise really could read his mind.

"Quiet, boy," Joe warned, placing a hand over his horse's velvet-soft muzzle. "Don't make a sound."

It was Fleet Rowse. The outlaw was leading a boy through the trees, headed west. Joe's jaw tightened when he saw the blond-headed youth. It had to be Thom Parrish, the son of the people Rowse and his Indians had murdered when they raided the coach Bella was riding; the one whose sister he had mistaken for Bella and buried. As Joe watched a tall Indian – an older one – met Rowse and the three of them continued on.

This was his chance.

"Looks like God's smilin' on fools today, Cooch," Joe whispered as he tethered his horse's reins to one of the trees. "You stay here. I'll be back shortly with Bella and Aurora."

Cooch backed up and shied. He blew air through his nose as if trying to warn him.

Joe gave his old friend one last pat. "It'll be okay, boy. You'll see. I'll be back quicker than Mooney's goose."

Leaving Cochise behind, Joe moved quickly through the trees, driven by hope and a healthy dose of adrenaline. He moved as stealthily as possible, knowing Indians had a knack for hearing and seeing things a white man would miss. When he reached the camp, Joe saw it consisted of three hide tents erected near the entry to the old Paiute graveyard. Smoke was rising from one of them. As Joe crouched there and watched, an older Indian woman came out of the tent. She was carrying food and drink and took it into another one. She stayed inside a few minutes and then stepped out again with nothing in her hands and took up a position out front. He could see movement through the open tent flap. Joe caught a glimpse of a tall woman with red hair.

It had to be Aurora. That meant Bella was in there too.

"Dear God, I promise to be good for a month of Sundays if you'll just let her be okay," Joe whispered.

And he meant it!

With an eye to the third tent, unsure of whether or not it was occupied, Joe headed in the opposite direction, rounding the one that held the women. As he passed it and caught a whiff of the food the woman had delivered, his mouth watered and his stomach growled. Clenching it with his hand, Joe stopped, breathing hard. He was two _times_ a fool for taking off without eating.

Not only was his head woozy, but now his stomach was trying to give him away!

"God keep Cooch and my belly quiet," Joe whispered as he began to move again.

As he neared the back of the tent the women occupied, Joe crept in closer. He leaned his ear against the hide and listened. He could hear them talking. _Two_ women. One was Aurora and the other... Joe held his breath and focused, shutting out all other sounds.

It was Bella.

Long ago his pa had told him his tears were a strength; that they meant he was compassionate and felt things deeply. That he _cared._ They fell unbidden now, trailing down his cheeks and wetting his bloody collar before soaking into the equally ruined fabric of his tan shirt.

Bella was _alive!_

Reaching along his belt, Joe unfastened the knife he'd stowed there. He placed his hand on the hide tent and began to slice through it. When he finished and opened the slit to peer inside, there were two pale white faces looking back at him. He put a finger to his lips before either of the women could say anything and motioned that they should slip out. Rory came first and then Bella. She had twigs and bracken in her hair and her face was covered in mud and a little bit of blood. Her beautiful dress was in tatters and she had no shoes on her feet.

She was magnificent!

Joe wanted _so_ to take her and draw her close to him, to touch her hair, to kiss her on the lips and tell her everything was going to be all right, but he couldn't. He didn't _know_ that yet. He had to get them away from this place and he still didn't know if the Indian woman was the only one in camp. In fact, he doubted she was. She had to have a husband. Maybe a son or two.

Still, if God was with them...

Joe held out his hand and Bella slipped hers into his. He squeezed her fingers and then nodded to Aurora and the three of them began to move, circling back the way he had come, headed for Cochise and safety. He'd have to let the two women travel on the horse and walk. His thinking had been muddled when he left. He should have brought a second horse.

Joe held his breath as they continued to navigate the underbrush undisturbed.

It couldn't be this simple.

Could it?

The answer to that question came about thirty seconds later when he reached the trees to find Cochise was gone.

"Lookin' for somethin', Cartwright?" a steely voice asked.

Before he could react, Joe felt Bella's hand slip from his own. She called out his name as she was torn away and then struck and driven to the ground. Aurora bent to help her just as the redhead's hellish brother moved out of a thick patch of leaves leading Cochise, his eyes blazing like a demon unleashed. With him came the older Indian he had seen before. Thom Parrish wasn't there, but there was another man – a young tattooed warrior whose chest was covered in war paint. Joe thought he looked familiar, but couldn't place him until the native sneered and raised his war club.

It was the Indian who had struck on the head, almost killing him the day the stagecoach was attacked.

Rowse handed Cochise off to the warrior and sidled toward him. Aurora's brother was a tall man, about Adam's height, and his presence was made even larger by the sinister shadow he cast – a shadow of unspeakable evil. As Rowse approached the warrior moved as well, taking his place behind Bella and Aurora. Joe knew what that meant. It was a warning that – should he try anything – it was _they_ who would pay the price.

"You touch either of them and you'll live to regret it," Joe growled.

The warrior held his gaze and then deliberately stepped forward to cup Bella's breasts in his hands.

Joe heard her shout 'No!" even as he moved. He knew Shadow Walker was baiting him, but he couldn't stop himself. Bella was his friend – his little sister – and maybe a whole lot more.

He was gonna kill him.

There was a sense of movement behind him. Joe spun and found Fleet Rowse standing there.

"Thanks, Cartwright," the outlaw said.

Joe's green eyes shot from one renegade to the other. "For what?" he demanded, his chin thrust out and his eyes blazing.

"For bein' so _stupid_."

At that moment Joe saw a shadow cast on the ground. He knew what it was before it hit him.

Shadow Walker's club.

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"What do you _mean_ Ben ain't here?" Roy Coffee demanded.

Adam sighed. It was what? The _third_ time he'd answered that question? "I told you, Roy. Several times," he said patiently. "Pa set off after Joe once he realized he'd sneaked out."

"Well, what's that fool brother of your'n doin' goin' off chasin' after that devil on his lonesome anyhow?"

He'd lost counton how many times the sheriff had asked _that_ one.

"Roy, we're wastin' time standin' here goin' over how stupid you done think Pa and Joe are," Hoss interjected. "We gotta get after them!"

Adam eyed his giant of a brother. He had to hide a smile. Hoss had that _look_ – like he wanted to take one of his fists and hammer Roy into the ground like a post.

"Now, _you_ see here, Hoss," the lawman countered. "My men ain't here yet and _we_ ain't settin' out 'til they are!"

"But time's a wastin', Roy!" the big man protested. "Joe and Pa could be in real danger!"

"And we could put them in even more danger by bargin' in afore we're ready!" Roy shouted back.

"Roy. Roy." Adam spread his hands wide in a show of peace. "All Hoss and I are suggesting is that you allow us to...scout ahead."

It was lame, but it was worth a try.

The older man was no more fooled than their father would have been. One grizzled eyebrow shot toward his weather-beaten hat. "And what do you take _me_ for, Adam Cartwright, a bigger fool than your Pa!"

"Now, you just wait there a minute, Roy..."

Here it came. Hoss _was_ going to pound the lawman into the dirt.

Stepping between the two of them, Adam suggested, "How about this, Roy? You let Hoss and I go ahead and we promise," he crossed his heart, "solemnly, on our mother's graves..." Adam shot his brother a look that said, 'keep your mouth shut'. "Wepromise we will _not_ charge Fleet Rowse's camp on our own. One of us will stay to keep watch and the other will come back to find you and the posse." Adam's black brows lifted and his lips quirked at the ends in some kind of a smile. "Deal?"

The lawman looked at him like a father looked at a little boy who promised he was just going to the river to fish and had no intention of jumping in.

"Now, boy," Roy said, jabbing a finger into his chest, "you're a Cartwright and you know what a Cartwright's word means."

 _Damn_ him.

Adam cleared his throat. "Yes."

Roy eyed the clouds. "And your mama's up there watchin', seein' everythin' you do."

"My _sainted_ mother, yes," he nodded.

"W...e...l...l..."

He'd never heard a man drag a word out so long.

"...I guess as it would be all right."

"I'll get the horses!" Hoss declared and was gone.

A few minutes later Roy watched them carefully as they mounted, fully aware that their horses had already been saddled and that they had been dressed for travel when he arrived. As he took Sport's reins in hand, the older man came over to him.

"You keep your word, son," Roy said, anchoring him to the Ponderosa with a hand on his saddle. "Buryin' one Cartwright would be plain Hell enough, let alone it bein' four."

"We will, Roy. You can count on us."

"Yes, sir, you can," Hoss echoed.

The sheriff hesitated and then removed his hand. "We'll be right behind you. Soon as Clem gets here with the rest of the men. It's a darn shame we was all out to the Curtis' fightin' that barn fire when your Pa's hand came lookin' for me."

Adam tipped his hat in a signal to Hoss that it was time to move.

"Later, Roy."

About a half-mile down the road, Hoss reined Chubb in and put out a hand to stop him. "What're you gonna do, Adam, if we find Pa or Joe bein' held captive by Rowse? Head back like you promised Roy?"

"I gave my word," the man in black said quietly, "and Roy was right about the word of a Cartwright."

Hoss hung his head. "I suppose he was."

Adam let out a sigh. "Still, there's one thing Roy _doesn't_ know."

His brother looked at him. "What's that, Adam?"

"I gave my word to Joe _first_ when I found him with his throat cut. I promised him _nothing_ would stop me from making Fleet Rowse pay. _Nothing._ Not my word given to Roy." His grin was lopsided. "Not even a promise made on me sainted mother's grave."

"So we're goin' in?" Hoss asked, his crystal blue eyes narrowed and hard as ice.

Adam gave Scout's reins a jingle.

"We're going in."

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Joe thought he'd known what torment was.

He'd been wrong.

Tears streamed down his face, mingling with the dribbles of blood that ran down his bare chest from the myriad thin cuts there. It had taken him a moment when he regained consciousness to realize where he was. He'd expected to wake up trussed and tossed in a heap at the back of one of the tents. Instead he was outside. He'd been stripped to the waist and bound to a framework of poles about ten feet long, set about five feet apart. A crosspiece was tied close to two feet off the ground and another one about five feet above it, forming a square frame. His wrists and ankles were bound with rawhide to the four corners. The frame was set firmly in the ground just outside the entrance to the old Paiute graveyard. Spotted Deer – the Indian woman who'd been ordered to watch Bella and Aurora – was the first to come at him. She'd lost face and took great joy in beating him about the chest with a strip of rawhide 'til his skin split and bled. Once the long braided piece hit his neck where it was already cut and he'd blessedly passed out.

But only for a moment.

Fleet Rowse doused him with cold water, startling him back to consciousness and the torment began again.

Now it was Shadow Walker's turn. The young warrior stood close by, heating the stone tips of a half-dozen arrows over a small fire. Joe knew what was coming. He'd heard of it before.

Rowse's companion was gonna press those red hot arrowheads against his skin and brand him.

Joe closed his eyes for a second, shutting out the horrific vision of his future. He'd grown up out west. He knew what hostile Indians did to their captives. He'd heard the tales from those who'd seen and experienced it themselves. He knew how they stripped men naked and shot them through with arrows, or beat them with clubs 'til they were senseless; how they fed them afterwards and gave them water just so the torment could last longer...

A sound attracted his attention. Joe opened his eyes to find the Indian woman had gone back to guard the tent where the women were. He could hear Bella screaming his name over and over again. It shamed him to hear her calling out like that for him. It shamed him because he'd failed her. He was gonna die and Shadow Walker was gonna take her for his own and Bella's life would be nothing but one day after the next in Hell until she died. And all because of him.

All because he thought he could save her on his own.

The scent of smoldering rawhide brought Joe's attention back to his tormentor. Shadow Walker stood right in front of him now, holding a burning-hot arrowhead just under his nose. Joe swallowed and lifted his head. He learned another thing from those people who'd been tortured. The _worst_ thing you could do with an Indian warrior was show fear. So, while denying his tears, Joe swallowed, drew what little spit he had forward, and let it fly in the warrior's face. Shadow Walker did not flinch. Nor did he hesitate to press the red hot arrowhead into his skin.

But there was respect in his eyes as he did it.

Joe screamed.

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Hoss's meaty hand shot out to grip the reins of his brother's horse and draw him back. What's he'd just heard had chilled him to the bone.

"You hear that, Adam? That's Little Joe! I'd know his voice anywhere!"

His brother was pale as morning mist. Adam nodded once and inclined his head to the east. "It came from over there, near the place where the Paiute bury their dead."

"That's where Rowse was afore! We gotta go, Adam. Now –"

This time it was Adam who reached out and caught _his_ arm. "Hoss, think! What we have to do is go, but _cautiously_. Getting ourselves killed is not going to help Joe."

Another scream brought both their heads around. It was weaker but longer this time, lasting several heartbeats.

Tears entered the big man's eyes. "I can't stand it, Adam! It sounds like Joe's dyin'!"

"Rowse knows that." Adam's jaw was taut. His fingers lingered just above his gun. As he watched, the man in black flexed them and returned them to the reins. "That fiend is using Joe as...bait."

"Bait? I thought it was _Joe_ be wanted."

"Oh, he wants Joe, but he wants me too. And you and Pa. We Cartwrights may not have brought him to justice, but we thwarted his plans and we _beat_ him. Rowse didn't get his sister. He didn't get the money. He didn't get to kill Joe and he had to run. Fleet Rowse is not the kind of man to take being beaten lightly. He's like a mad dog. It doesn't matter if the meat is ripped to shreds and trampled in the dirt, he's got to be the one to eat first."

There was yet another cry. Longer. Louder.

Then it was cut short.

A second later a familiar voice rang out. "Cartwright! Cartwright, answer me! I know you're out there!"

The two brothers exchanged a look.

"Should we answer him?" Hoss asked.

Adam held up a hand. "Let me think..."

But Rowse wasn't going to _let_ them think.

"Cartwright. You got three seconds before I let Shadow Walker have his _way_ with young Joseph. One. Two..."

Adam opened his mouth, but it was their father's voice that answered.

"I'm here," the brothers heard the older man cry out. "Let my son go!"


	14. Chapter 13

THIRTEEN

"Drop your gun, old man," Fleet Rowse ordered as the villain moved between him and the ghastly vision of his youngest boy stretched out on a wooden rack. "Now."

His eyes never leaving Joe, Ben hastened to comply. He could see his son's chest rising and falling in ragged breaths, so at least he knew he was alive. But dear God! The boy had been tortured! Joseph's shirt was gone. He still had his pants, but they were rent and covered with blood as were his chest and face. It was obvious he had been beaten. Probably by the fierce-looking Indian woman who was standing guard before a nearby tent, a bloody rawhide whip in her hand. A young warrior, ferocious, cruel, stood beside his son. The man's black eyes were unforgiving. There was an arrow in his hand and a fire burning at his feet.

The imprint of the arrow's head was burned into Joe's tanned flesh.

"Why...why have you done his to my son?" Ben stammered as tears entered his eyes.

"You should of done a better job of parentin', old man," Fleet Rowse declared. "This one's right mouthy. Figured lettin' Shadow Walker have a go at him would take the spunk right out of him." Rowse cast a glance over his shoulder at Little Joe where his son hung limp between the poles. The corner of the villain's lips lifted in a sneer. "Looks like I was right."

"Cut him down!" the older man demanded.

"Now, why should I?" The outlaws black eyebrows peaked toward the progression of black waves on his forehead. "The way I look at it, _Joe_ owes me." Rowse's gun pointed directly at him. "Just like _all_ you Cartwrights owe me."

Ben drew a breath. His eyes remained fastened on his son. "Let Joseph go, Rowse. You can do whatever you please with me. Just – "

One word. Only one.

"No."

Ben tore his eyes away to look at Rowse. "Why? Why do you hate Joseph so? You got away –"

"Only after that skinny-assed mollycoddled rich kid beat me at my own game!" Rowse snarled. "Him and that older brother of his, they owe me!"

Good God.

Ben understood it then. Though Rowse would be happy to see them all dead, the trap had not been set for him, but for Adam. Ben steeled himself not to look around. The odds were his other sons were nearby. They knew their youngest brother as well as he did – if not better. They would know which direction Joseph had taken. He had to count on Adam. His eldest had a cool level head. He _had_ to trust the boy would think things through before taking action.

The older man's eyes shot to his youngest son, hanging on the rack like a slab of beef.

If it was _possible_ to think things through in the face of such a sight.

"What're we gonna do, Adam?"

The man in black could hear the panic in Hoss' voice. He didn't blame him. Their baby brother had obviously been tortured, and maybe to death. Their father was standing in plain sight with a gun trained on him – and the man holding the gun was a maniac.

Adam closed his eyes. There _was_ a solution to this equation.

He just had to find it.

The simplest solution was, of course, to reveal himself. He knew it wasn't their father Rowse wanted but him. He'd been the one to get Joe away from the outlaw – even if Joe rolling over the edge of a ravine and him following close behind had kept him from bringing the villain to justice. He'd plead with Rowse to release their father and at least save the older man's life – and maybe even his youngest brother's.

Right.

Adam sighed. Unfortunately, he knew what type of man Rowse was. He would break any bargain made and kill him and Joe _and_ his father just out of spite – and probably kill Hoss and burn the Ponderosa to the ground as well. The man in black's hazel eyes flicked to the tent behind Rowse where the Indian woman stood. He'd seen movement within it. Most likely Aurora Clark and Bella. He had to consider them too. From the tent, Adam's eyes moved to the warrior standing beside Joe, and then to the other two tents. So far he had counted only two men, Rowse and the young warrior standing by Joe. Two against two.

Or was it three?

Adam closed his eyes. He swallowed down bile. So far he had avoided it – fearful of what he would find.

Now he looked _directly_ at Joe.

The kid looked awful. Joe's chin was on his chest and he was either unconscious or dead. His body was covered in a network of cuts much like the ones Rowse had inflicted several days before. Adam recognized the pattern now and understood why the fiend had done that to Joe – it was a form of Indian torture. Because Rowse was a white man they tended to forget that his heart – by choice – was red. Not red like an Indian's skin, but the red of a monster evermore on the warpath. A man with murder in his heart.

Adam's jaw tightened with something very close to hate.

There was nothing to do but put him down like the dog he was.

"Adam?"

He had almost forgotten his middle brother was there and that he had asked a question. 'What were they going to do?'

Their second choice was to go in with guns blazing and hope they could pick off Rowse and whoever else was with him with the least amount of casualties possible. That choice meant almost certain death for Little Joe, if he was still alive. And most likely for their father.

They might get the women out alive, but...

"Adam."

It was Hoss again, pestering him to come up with a solution, like a buzzing insect that needed swatting.

"Give me time to think!" he snapped and then regretted it.

Hoss wasn't alone. There was a tall Indian behind him.

He had a knife to his brother's throat.

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She'd seen him. Dragged in front of the tent opening, barely conscious; his beautiful skin covered with dirt and blood. At first the sight had given Bella a small amount of consolation. She'd feared Rowse had killed Little Joe when he took her prisoner – in fact, the villain had told her that he had. She didn't believe him – well, not really – but the doubt kept creeping up on her until she had pretty well convinced herself that Joe was dead and it was all her fault for not being faster and stronger and...

'Worry is the interest paid by those who borrow trouble', her Pa used to tell her.

In spite of everything, Bella smiled. She always thought her pa was _so_ smart – and he was – but he was also well-read.

George Washington had said that one first.

A noise drew her attention to the front of the tent. Aurora was standing between her and the opening. She saw the other woman stiffen. The redhead backed up and stepped aside as a man was thrust in. His hands and feet were bound and his face was bloody, as if he had been roughly handled.

It was Ben Cartwright.

As the older man hit the dirt floor, Aurora's brother followed. He glared at the two of them. "You leave him be as he is," he growled. "I come in here and find him untied, that boyfriend of yours will be minus an ear – or somethin' _more_ important. You hear me?!"

Bella's breath caught.

Little Joe _was_ still alive!

"I...won't try to...get away," the older man's breath had been knocked from him. "Just don't hurt...my son anymore."

Fleet's dark eyes lit with an unholy mirth. "You got my promise, Cartwright." He held the older man's gaze for a moment before adding. "Seems I can't speak for Shadow Walker though. You know how it is with _savages..."_

Laughing, Rowse left the tent.

The older man's jaw was tight. "Dear God!" he breathed. "To be so close and be able to do _nothing!"_

Aurora bent beside him and asked softly, "What about Adam and Hoss? Are they here?"

Bella's eyes shot to the door. She could see the back of Spotted Deer's legs. A finger to her lip and a quick shake of her head cautioned that any answer be kept nearly inaudible.

Ben Cartwright nodded, but said, just loud enough to be heard, "My sons are...waiting at the ranch house for...Roy and the posse. I figured out that Joseph had fooled us and came ahead alone."

Bella stared at him a moment and then went to get a bowl of water and a cloth. Sitting beside the older man, she began to clean the cuts on his face.

"That's not necessary," he grunted.

She bit back tears and sniffed. "Yes, it is. I can't do it for Little Joe..."

Ben's dark eyes met hers. He gave her a little smile and then fell silent.

Aurora watched them, her face a mask. Bella knew the older woman felt responsible for everything that had happened five years before and for what was happening now. Suddenly, she turned toward the opening. Inching closer, the redhead peered outside.

"What's happening?" Ben asked.

Aurora held up a hand. "Someone has come into camp. It's Thinks Twice. He has someone –" She gasped and turned toward them.

"It's Adam!"

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Adam Cartwright stood with a rope around his neck and another looped around his wrists. The Indian warrior who had come upon him and Hoss held the ends of both. His face was covered with mud and a bit of blood and his black clothing was ripped and shredded from rolling around on the ground. There were tears on his cheeks too. Tears of anger and of rage.

And of sorrow.

Thinks Twice drew back hard on the rope that circled his throat, halting him. The warrior opened his mouth to call to his companions, but Fleet Rowse chose that moment to appear so it wasn't necessary in the end. Shadow Walker struck Joe hard across the face, drawing blood, before following.

Joe didn't make a sound.

Adam glared at the pair, merciless and savage as the land that had given them birth, as they halted before him. Again, he questioned his choice to remain here, so far from the civilized society that he loved. But then, civilized society lacked the one thing that kept him here.

His father and brothers.

"Where's the big one?" Rowse demanded.

Adam stiffened. It would be hard to hear.

"Dead," Thinks Twice said.

Shadow Walker seemed unconvinced. "How did you overcome the mountain of a man?"

The older Indian sneered. "You know only your club and how to inflict pain. You have no honor, nor do you honor the one you fight." He paused. "The kill was clean."

Rowse snorted. As the villain strode over to him, Adam braced himself for the blow he knew was coming.

He wasn't disappointed. It made his nose run red.

"So much for the _mighty_ Cartwrights!" he mocked. "Your baby brother's half-dead." He chortled. "Maybe _all_ dead. Your Pa's beaten, and the one you probably thought no one could take down fell like one of your Ponderosa pines. And you – high-falutin', fancy talkin', college educated Adam Cartwright..." Rowse drew his pistol and placed the tip of the barrel against his heart. "You're dead too."

"Is that how it's to be Rowse" Adam snarled. "A shot and its done? I'd call that a coward's way out."

Rowse pulled back on the trigger. "Maybe. Maybe I _am_ a coward. You ever consider that, Adam Cartwright? Maybe I like the easy path."

"You're a warrior, or so you keep insisting," he countered quickly, his hazel eyes flicking, not to Thinks Twice, but to Shadow Walker. "If you were a coward, you wouldn't be alive."

There was a second, and then Fleet released the trigger. "You got me there, Cartwright."

"Fight me."

The outlaw scowled. "For what?"

"My father and brother's lives."

"You ain't worth that much," Rowse replied. Then, his black eyes blazing, he said, "I'm feelin' generous today. You win, you can pick _one_. Other two of you dies."

If it was up to Joe or his father, he knew neither one of them would want to survive alone.

But life was life.

"Agreed."

Rowse bellowed . "You got a trick up your sleeve, Cartwright?"

Adam's eyes went to his bound wrists. "I don't have any sleeve," he countered dryly.

Fleet was working his way out of his coat. Adam gestured with a nod to Thinks Twice. He felt the noose on his neck loosen as the Indian warrior released the cords he held. The man in black glanced at his baby brother where he hung on the rack, noted Shadow Walker's close proximity, and said a quick prayer before nodding again.

Then all hell broke loose.

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Ben Cartwright glanced back at Hoss who barreled out of the tent right behind him. He had never been so surprised as when his middle son poked his head through the slit Joseph had cut in the hide tent earlier. He had overheard the conversation between Adam and Rowse and, for a moment, feared his gentle giant of a son was dead. Hoss didn't have time to explain what was happening and he didn't question it. All he could figure was that, for some reason, Thinks Twice had turned on Rowse.

As Hoss headed for the painted warrior who stood near Joe, Ben tackled the Indian woman who had turned to face them the moment they exited the tent. She put up little resistance as he caught her arms and drew them up behind her and secured then with the long piece of rawhide she held. Once she was subdued and he'd placed her inside the tent, Ben turned back. He found his attention divided. Adam and Rowse were squared off against each other. Both had their guns out. All he could think was that the older Indian must have carried Adam's, hidden somewhere on his person. On his other side Hoss was struggling with Shadow Walker whose fierce war cries pierced the early afternoon. Even though the Indian was little more than half his son's size, he was putting up a ferocious fight.

Through it all, Joseph hung there, unmoving.

"Pa! Duck!" Adam's strident voice rang out.

Reacting instantly, the older man dropped to the ground just as a bullet streaked over his head. Adam had tried to take the outlaw's gun away and it had gone off. His son was breathing hard. Adam was tiring.

Fleet Rowse fought like the demon he was.

Behind him Ben heard a grunt and then a thud. He spun to find Shadow Walker on the ground with Hoss standing over him. The big man was bleeding from various cuts, but he was on his feet and favored him with a grim grin before turning to his quiescent brother. Ben wanted to run to his side, but there was still Adam to think about. His near-black eyes went to the older Indian first. The man was standing at the edge of the clearing, his arms folded, doing nothing. The rancher glanced around for a suitable weapon and, finding Shadow Walker's abandoned club on the ground, picked it up and headed into the fray. Adam's eyes grew wide when he saw what he was doing, but that didn't deter him.

This man – this _monster_ – had hurt all three of his sons and he was going to see that he _paid!_

Adam backed away, breathing hard, just as the outlaw realized he was there. For several seconds, time froze. Rowse had a gun pointed at him. Adam had a gun pointed Rowse. Ben was armed with the war club, ready and willing to bash the villain's brains in if necessary.

In the end it was another weapon that took Fleet Rowse down.

Ben felt the rush of air as the arrow flew past him to lodge in the villain's shoulder, causing Rowse to drop his gun.

The bow it flew out of was in Hoss' hands.

Adam was on Rowse in a second. Straddling the outlaw's body, his son wrenched the man's arms back – with a little more force than was necessary – and quickly bound them behind his back. As Adam shoved Rowse face down in the dirt and planted a knee on his back, a familiar voice rang out.

"So this is what you Cartwrights mean when you give your word!"

Ben pivoted to find Roy Coffee and half-dozen men standing in a loose semi-circle around the clearing. As he did, he saw Thinks Twice sprint away into the trees. Ben made to follow him, but Adam caught his arm and shook his head.

"Let him go, Pa," he said. "If not for him, we'd all be dead."

The older man stared hard at his boy. He knew the tall Indian had been there when the stage was overrun and all those people died. He'd kidnapped the Parrish boy. "Adam, no..."

"Leave it to God, Pa. Go look after Joe."

Joe.

The name stabbed Ben like a knife.

Even as he turned, he saw Hoss cutting the last of the rawhide strips that bound his brother to the wooden structure. When Joe's limp form fell against him, the big man gently lowered his unconscious form to the ground. As he started toward them Ben heard a woman gasp. Bella was standing just outside the tent she and Aurora had been quartered in. She was white as the mainsail and shaking like a mast in the wind. Ben went to her and took her by the arm.

"Bella?"

Her gaze was fixed on the tableau at the bottom of the rack.

"Little Joe?" she whispered, her voice robbed of strength. "Is he..."

Ben steeled himself. Then, with the same question in his black eyes, he looked at his middle son.

"Joe's alive, Pa," Hoss answered, though his voice shook and broke with emotion as he did. "Barely."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"How is he?" Adam asked his father as he emerged from the smoke-filled tent where his little brother was fighting for his life.

The older man said nothing. He simply shook his head.

In the end they let Spotted Deer go to join her husband, even though they were fairly sure some of Joe's torture had been at her hands. In a way, it was a 'thank you' to the older Indian. Thinks Twice had been true to his name and, after considerable consideration, had decided that Fleet Rowse was a maniac and had to be stopped. Taking revenge on someone who had hurt or shamed you was part and parcel of the native heart, but Thinks Twice did not think Joe's 'crimes' validated such harsh treatment. When he came upon them he told them so, and together they put in place the scheme to free their brother and father. At first, Spotted Deer had been restrained. As they carried Joe into the tent she asked permission to go to one of the other structures and returned with a handful of herbs and a pouch filled with tiny pots of unguent. While they looked on, she built the fire up and tossed the sweet-smelling herbs on it. As smoke filled the tent she opened the jars and, with a finger, began to smear different salves over the burns and cuts on Joe's flesh. When she was done, she told them there would be little scarring.

Should he live.

The next day, as Roy and his men scoured the area to make certain none of Rowse's cohorts remained, Spotted Deer taught Bella how to administer the salve. Bella hadn't left Joe's side since he'd been placed in the tent. Pa'd fought it at first, insisting she needed to rest as well, but finally, the older man had recognized her need for absolution and turned most of Joe's care over to her. Hoss left the night before to ride to Virginia City to fetch Doc Martin and a wagon. They'd drawn straws and the big man lost.

None of them wanted to go, each fearing Joe might be gone before they could make it back.

"No improvement then?" Adam asked.

"We've said it before," his father answered with a weary smile. "Something is terribly wrong with the world when your youngest brother is still." His father looked toward the horizon where the sun was beginning to set. "He's still. _Very_ still."

"Bella is with him?"

The older man's smile grew genuine. "With her whole being bent on making him well."

Adam wondered how she would stand it if – if the unthinkable happened.

"Still blaming herself?"

The older man nodded and then he grinned – a small, self-effacing grin. "You'd think she _was_ a Cartwright."

Adam glanced toward the tent. "Would you be happy if she was?"

His father looked puzzled. "What? I don't..." Then he did. "You think they are _that_ serious?"

The man in black shrugged. "It's just a feeling. I just think, well, if – _when_ Joe recovers, I wouldn't be surprised if we hear wedding bells." He was surprised when his father looked unhappy. "Pa? I thought you liked Bella."

His father started. "I don't like that girl, Adam, I _love_ her. Still..." He pulled at his chin. "Adversity and danger make poor arrows for Cupid's quiver."

Adam nodded. "You think they might just 'think' they're in love?"

His father reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. "There's a long road ahead of your brother before he can even think of such a thing. Let's get him home and well before we borrow any trouble, eh?" His father had just lifted his hand when they heard the rattle of wagon wheels.

The older man beamed. "It's Hoss! God grant he has Paul with him!"

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It near killed him to step inside that tent with the Doc. Hoss was a big man and it wasn't easy for him to fit, but his Pa wanted them all there to hear what the doctor had to say. Joe's biggest enemy, it turned out, wasn't the blood loss or the beatin', or even bein' strung up like a piece of meat and exposed to the elements. It was that thing that no one could see and was near impossible to beat.

Infection.

Paul didn't like the conditions Joe was in. He said, since the Ponderosa ranch house wasn't that far away, he wanted to take a chance and wagon little brother home as soon as possible. At the house there would be better sanitation and they'd have ice to cool Little Joe's fever if it spiked. The Doc thanked Elizabeth and told her she done a good job takin' care of Little Joe, but it was plain as the nose on your face that she was all wore down herself and like to faint. They'd listened with faces longer than a hound dog's to the Doc's prognosis for Joe's recovery – which weren't very chipper – and then set about gettin' ready to go. He'd noticed when they did that Spotted Deer was gone and had asked Adam about it. Big brother said he and Pa'd decided to let her go. The big man wasn't right sure about that. She'd done hurt Joe bad and he was mighty angry about that.

' _As you forgive, so are you forgiven_ ,' his pa had reminded him grim-faced, the words as much for himself as for his hurting son.

Shortly after that Roy and the posse returned. Roy went straight to the tent where they had Fleet Rowse and that other Indian, Shadow Walker, trussed up. The lawman left two men to guard the tent. Aurora had fixed some grub and took it in to her brother and the other man. That Mrs. Clark, she was a right determined lady. She'd anchored her brother's gun around the hips of her dress and assured them all she would not hesitate to use it.

After Roy and his men and the Doc had a bite to eat, Paul Martin said it was time to go. The doctor called on him to pick up Little Joe and carry him to the wagon that had been loaded down with blankets and pillows to ease the long ride home. As he lifted Joe's unconscious form, tears gathered in his eyes. It reminded him of the first time Marie'd let him hold his new baby brother. His hands had been so _big_ and Joe had been _so_ little, he'd been afraid he'd snap him right in two. Truth was, he was afraid he might snap him in two right _now_ if he was too rough. Joe felt near as tiny in his arms as that little baby had so long ago, and just as fragile. The only difference was, this time, Little Joe wasn't all balled up and squealing.

He was pale and ever so still.

As Hoss placed his brother in the wagon, Bella climbed in and sat beside him. Paul and his pa exchanged a glance. Pa shook his head, and then the doctor climbed in on the other side. The Doc asked Bella to help him make Joe comfortable and then told her to lie down beside him.

It weren't two minutes later she was fast asleep.

Adam mounted Sport and he offered Chubb to Aurora. Pa had Buck and _he_ was gonna drive. Roy and his men, surrounding Rowse and Shadow Walker, were riding with them, but goin' on to town to take them two bad men to the jail. Since Fleet was an escaped prisoner, the authorities would have to be told. Most like, he'd end up turned over to the army or the state. Roy hated to admit it, but they was probably gonna hang onto Shadow Walker so's they could exchange him for some Indian prisoner.

Maybe Thom Parrish if they was lucky.

Hoss glanced over his shoulder at his little brother and then sniffed and struck a tear away.

A second later, his father's hand descended on his shoulder. "Have faith, son."

He nodded. "Sure, Pa."

The older man looked at him. "Hoss. What is it?"

"Well, it's that 'faith', Pa. I believe in God. But..."

"But?"

"It sure does seem the Man upstairs has got it in for little brother sometimes," he said with a shake of his head. "I mean, you know, Joe's well...little. Seems someone's always pickin' on him 'bout somethin'."

"And your brother's behavior has nothin' to do with this?"

"Well, Little Joe can be a hothead," he admitted. "And, you know, the boy _does_ leap before he looks sometimes, but Pa, seems one of these times well..." He sniffed again and his voice lost its strength. "Well, maybe he just ain't gonna make it."

The older man nodded solemnly. After a moment, he asked, "Do you remember that prize fighter – the one who nearly killed Little Joe, and whom you had a tough time taking down?"

He nodded. How could he forget?

"Adversity has the same effect on a man that severe training has on the pugilist, son. It reduces him to his fighting weight. Yes, your brother is small-built and impulsive." His father's smile was gentle. "All the more reason God has seen fit to train him so well."

"You two ready to go?" Adam asked as he came alongside them.

Their father glanced at the wagon back. "Paul, are you ready?"

The doctor nodded. "As we can be."

Reassuring as always, that was Doc Martin.

His pa looked at his older brother, and then at him.

"Sons," he said, "let's go home."

END OF PART TWO


	15. Chapter 14

PART THREE

FOURTEEN

Ben Cartwright laid his paper down on the dining room table and leaned back in his chair. He ran a hand over his face as he looked expectantly toward the stair. Three weeks had passed since they had found Joseph, freed Aurora and Bella, and captured Fleet Rowse and his Indian partner. This was the first day his youngest was due at the breakfast table. Joe had certainly been through the wringer. His fever had lingered for nearly a week as Paul Martin fought the infections that continued to arise as a result of dirt and other matter getting into the various cuts Rowse and his cohort had inflicted. The one on Joseph's throat had become quite inflamed as had another under his ribs. The fever had raged and ravaged his boy until he had grown to be but a shell of himself. His youngest had lost weight and stamina, which he was only now beginning to regain. At two weeks Paul had let him out of bed and Joseph had begun to take supervised walks around the upstairs.

Always with Bella as a prop.

They were deep into February now and the young lady would be with them throughout the rest of the winter. There was no way she could leave, and no way any of them would want her to try. The snow had finally flown and its feet-deep drifts confined them to the small world that was the ranch house and its surrounding yard. After the first night he had found Bella asleep in Joe's room, just as he had months before, he had had a stern talk with her. After all, a young lady's reputation was hard won and so easily lost. And even though Ben understood, finding the girl in his son's bedroom was simply not something he could let stand. After that Bella had gone to sitting with Joseph for several hours after supper and would then retreat to her room.

He'd hear her crying as he passed by on his way to bed.

It tore at his heart as he stood there, listening, night after night in the hall. The sound of Bella's tears brought Joe's mother to mind. Marie had been as mercurial as her son. It took little to bring her to laughter and even less to send her into gales of tears. When she was angry with him – which was frequently – she would go into one of the spare bedrooms and lock the door. No amount of pleading would bring her out until she was ready.

On one occasion it had been a full day before she showed her pale, tear-strained face.

Last night, it had become more than he could bear. The poor girl had been sobbing. Taking courage in hand, he'd knocked gently on her door and, upon receiving something that sounded like a welcome, opened it and went inside. Bella was sitting on the bed looking very much like that little girl whom he had first seen in her parents' house keeping watch over his injured son.

"May I?" he'd asked her, indicating the bed. When she nodded, he took a seat beside her and then reached out and took her hand. "Joseph will be all right," he'd said quietly. The doctor had assured him just that morning that it was true. His son's last fever had broken.

Bella's eyes lit with joy. "You're sure? You're not just telling me..."

He'd assured her it was true. After a moment, he had dared to ask, "Bella, are you in love with Joseph?"

She looked at her hands and not at him as she answered. "Of course, I love Little Joe."

He remembered catching her chin and lifting her head, so she _had_ to meet his stare. "That's not what I asked. I asked if you are _in_ love with him."

Her eyes filled with tears. It was almost as if she was afraid to answer.

"Tell me the truth."

She had fallen against him then, her tears wetting the fabric of his shirt. Her voice when she answered was that of a child, though she was anything _but._

"Yes..."

Ben tried to remember – how old had his dear Elizabeth been when he met her? When _she_ first knew she loved him? Not much older than this child he'd circled with his arm. He couldn't dismiss Bella's feelings. They were real.

"May I ask something of you?" he'd inquired softly.

She'd nodded; her pale golden ringlets bobbing against the shoulders of the white gown she wore.

"Take it slowly." Ben had smiled then, recalling his own youth and how hot his ardor had been. "You two have been through a great deal. You are bound to feel connected to one another." As she started to protest, he continued. "I am not saying your feelings are not real, but you have been Little Joe's 'big' sister for so long, you both may have trouble sorting out your feelings for one another. Do you understand?"

She nodded that she did, and he knew that, no, she didn't.

Standing, he had kissed her on the head. "Bella, I would love to have a daughter-in-law like you. I would welcome it. But I don't want you and Joseph to make a mistake by rushing into anything. That's all I'm saying."

He'd left her then to stand outside the door again and listen to her cry.

"Well, if that don't beat all! Pa, look what the cat done dragged in!"

His middle son's jovial statement brought Ben out of his reverie. Hoss had entered the house, placed his hat on the hat rack and turned toward the dining room, only to stop and gape at the stairs.

Joseph was at the top, leaning on Bella. He was pale and very thin, but he was on his feet and smiling.

"I was about to say the same thing," Joe replied. "Only I decided what I was lookin' at was so pitiful the cat would have thrown it back."

"I see that fever ain't burned any of the orneriness out of you, little brother," the big man snapped, pretending to be upset.

"Just fired it up, middle brother," his youngest replied as he came down the stairs by himself. Bella had moved a step away, but was watching Joseph closely. "That and my appetite. What's for breakfast?" Joe said as he made his way to the table.

Ben grinned from ear to ear. "You hear that, Hop Sing? Joseph wants to know what's for breakfast?"

A second later their Chinese cook appeared, babbling in Cantonese. "What number three son do downstairs? Doctor say wait for him to say okay before coming to table!"

Joe was slipping into his seat. "Since when have you known me to listen to Doc Martin?" he asked as he reached for a piece of bacon.

Hop Sing slapped his fingers. "You wait for Mistah Adam to come!"

"It's okay, Hop Sing," Ben laughed. "I don't think Adam will mind if Joseph starts first – _or_ if he eats the whole plate of bacon for that matter."

"Well, I'll dang sure mind!" Hoss said as he sat down and reached for the plate.

"You no sick! You leave bacon alone!" the Chinese man ordered as he smacked Hoss' fingers.

Hoss wiggled them. "Dang it! Where is older brother anyhow?"

"Right here."

They all turned in time to see Adam remove his coat and hang it and his hat on one of the pegs. As he approached the table, he asked, "Now what difficulty is it so early on this fine morning that you need my natural charm and ability to mediate?" As his eldest sat down, he shot his youngest brother a grin. "Good to see you at the table, Joe."

Joe was hoarding the plate and munching on the bacon, looking like a cat with a fat mouse. "I don't think middle brother agrees."

Adam's dark gaze shot to Hoss. "Oh?"

"It ain't fair," the big man groused. "Joe'll get fat eating all that bacon by hisself."

Ben reached out and touched his youngest's arm.

"Let's hope so."

Breakfast, after that, continued in its usual vein with jibes and pokes and – Heaven help him! – even a food fight in which Joe and Hoss tossed whole wheat rolls at one another. He let it go on for a while, enjoying his youngest son's delight. Hop Sing got into it in the end, yelling that he would never make rolls again if the boys were going to use them to play Cuju with – and then catching one in midair and lobbing it over to Adam who neatly dunked it in one of Marie's porcelain vases. The only one who seemed to half-heartedly join in was Bella. She was very subdued and he feared it had to do with their talk.

Still, it had to be said.

After the meal was completed, they retired with coffee and tea to the great room where Bella took Adam's accustomed chair by the fire and Joseph sat on the settee with his feet up and a blanket wrapped around his thin shoulders. The boy shivered entirely too much and had lost weight. Though from the look of things his youngest's appetite had at last returned and that would soon be remedied. Joseph's older brothers planned to head into town shortly and the conversation quickly turned to what supplies they needed and so on. The weather had broken the night before and, in spite of the cold, the crisp clear morning sky seemed to promise that spring indeed was on its was and so they had decided to venture into town. In truth the pair, like the rest of them, was feeling housebound.

Joseph was disappointed that he couldn't go with his brothers. He said he was tired of being cooped up and asked if he could take on a few simple chores. He'd hesitated, of course, to grant the request due to the boy's lack of stamina, but had at last given in. For the moment, the most strenuous chore he agreed to was Joe chopping wood and bringing it in to keep the fire in the great room supplied.

Watching his son, he noted a restlessness about him. Almost like a caged animal.

Ben's gaze went to Bella. He knew the source. There was a _different_ kind of fire in his youngest's eyes when they lighted on the beautiful young blonde woman who sat gazing into the fire.

Ben sighed deeply.

"Something wrong, Pa?" Adam asked.

Ben could hear the wry smile in the tone. Adam knew full _well_ what was wrong.

"No, son. Just glad to sit for a moment."

"Well," his oldest said as he rose to his feet, "I, for one, am ready to be on the move. Hoss and I had better get to it or the sun will be down before we reach town. Hop Sing!"

The Chinese man was clearing the table. "Yes, Mistah Adam?"

"You keep little brother eating. He looks like, if a strong wind blew in, it would take him right with it."

"Hop Sing cook plenty for too skinny number three son."

"Hey!" Joe protested – meekly.

"And you, Little brother, I want a promise from you as well."

Those big green eyes went wide. Joe pointed to his chest. "Who me? What do you want from me?"

Adam's eyes flicked to Bella and back. "Make sure you don't let yourself get _too_ hungry. There's such a thing as overindulgence, if you know what I mean."

Joseph's ears always gave him away.

They turned brick red.

This time it wasn't a whole wheat roll that flew through the air toward his oldest. It was a pillow, and it barely missed knocking over the ginger jar on the credenza.

"Boys!" Ben roared – because he knew he was supposed to.

"Sorry, Pa," came those three precious voices.

Bella giggled.

"And what're you laughing at?" Joe demanded, mock-serious.

Her lashes were lowered. She looked at him out from under them. "The only funny thing in the room."

His youngest frowned. Then he realized she meant _him_.

"I ain't funny!" he protested.

"You're 'not'," Ben sighed.

Joe flashed a look at him. "Not what?"

"Not funny."

Joe triumphantly crossed his arms and glared at her. "See! Pa agrees."

 _Ben_ was blinking now. "What did I agree to?"

"That I ain't funny!"

Hoss was dying and Adam was close to rolling on the floor. The only thing that rescued Joseph was a knock on the door.

His eldest's brows shot up. "Who do you suppose that is in this weather?"

In answer, a gruff voice called out, "Mister Cartwright, it's Jim Appleby."

Adam and Hoss exchanged a look. "Ain't he the man we got watching the team to the north?"

They'd corralled a good many horses before the snow hit in one of the northern pastures and had taken them there to wait out the winter. Ben was on his feet in a moment and headed for the door. He gestured to his eldest as he went.

"Let him in."

Jim blew in with a blast of cold air that set them all shivering. He removed his hat. After running a hand through his unruly shock of brown hair to straighten it, he said, "Mister Cartwright. Boys."

Jim Appleby was an older man close to his own age and had known his sons since they were barely old enough to ride. The three of them looked on him like a kindly uncle.

"What's wrong, Jim?"

"It's that blasted wind we had, Ben. It took out one of the older trees along with about thirty yards of fence. We caught some of the horses, but more than a dozen are running wild. I came to see if the boys would be willing to track them down. There's no one better than Hoss at tracking." Jim grinned and replaced his hat. "Sorry 'bout that, Adam."

Adam mock sighed. "I know my place. I'm the brains and Hoss is, well, everything else."

"So what am I?" Joe asked.

"Beautiful."

The word was out before Elizabeth thought better of it. Ben turned to look at her and saw her hand go to her mouth as she blushed red as Joseph's ears. A second later she was on her feet and headed up the stairs.

He went to Joseph then and placed a hand on his shoulder. The boy was fighting to keep his composure. Leaning in close he said, "Let her be, son. You can check on her later. I think Bella needs some time alone."

His youngest looked puzzled but he accepted his word. "Okay, Pa."

The older man turned back to Jim who was trying his best to hide his smile. Jim had three girls, one of which was married and two he was sitting on. He was quite amused.

"Adam, Hoss, I guess you'll have to forget your trip to town. We need those horses captured quickly."

"Sure thing, Pa," Hoss said as he pulled his heavy winter coat on and headed for the door. "I'll get Chubb and Sport ready."

"And I'll go and politely ask Hop Sing to pack several days rations. I imagine it will take us a few to find and bring in the strays." His son's hazel eyes flicked to the back of Joseph's head. "You think you'll be all right here alone, Pa?"

"Hey!" Little Joe protested.

"Well, you're not quite up to speed, little brother. No offense."

"We'll be fine," Ben replied. "Leave one of the older men in the bunkhouse, Jim. Maybe Andy. He can help around the house until the boys get back." He held up a hand to stifle his youngest's protests before they were begun. "You can't be outside in that weather for long, Joseph, not until you're healed. Someone has to look after the horses and keep up with the harder chores."

The boy grumbled but said nothing more.

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A half an hour later the door to the house closed, leaving Joe and his pa alone.

Joe was still on the settee. He enjoyed the fire. It seemed to him that the only time he felt completely warm was when he was near the giant hearth. The fire in his own room was large enough, but somehow the cold seemed to creep in to chill him even when he was under the covers. The only other time he felt completely warm and safe was when Bella snuck into his room and laid beside him. He knew Pa'd banished her from it. She'd said as much without really saying it. So she'd taken to waiting until his pa was asleep to come to his room and slip under the covers and nestle in close to him. So far nothing had happened – other than sleeping that was. She'd wake with the morning light and be gone, often before he opened his eyes. He'd lay there then, touching the place where she'd been, thinking about the only other time he'd felt this way.

That was with Laura.

Oh, he'd loved Julia Bulette, but that was in a defiant sort of way, like he knew what he felt and was damned determined to have his way since the world and his father saw it different. And he'd cared deeply for Amy, but that had been a little bit the same. They were like Romeo and Juliet with their feuding families and there was something – Pa'd shoot him for usin' the word – _forbidden_ about loving Amy that made it all the more intense.

Laura White he had simply loved.

It was Laura he had made a home for. Laura, whom Adam had carved that cradle for to hold their first child. Laura he had wanted to protect and cherish and had felt almost shy about touching, as if that touch might break whatever wondrous spell he found himself caught in. He'd thought he would never feel that way again.

He felt that way about Bella.

It was hard. In many ways he couldn't get past her bein' that little twelve year old girl who had taken care of him after her parents pulled him out of a burning building. He'd loved her since the day he'd awakened in her house and been charmed to find she thought of him as her little brother. He'd thought of her as his little sister, of course, without letting her know. Right then and there he'd sworn to protect her and he'd done that, right up until the time she saved _his_ life. It was Bella that led Adam to him when Fleet Rowse left him to die in the cold. She'd protected him again, in the Sierra, when Rowse reappeared and slaughtered the people on the stage he was riding shotgun for. They'd clung to one another and cried over that, and over the loss of the people they'd traveled with. There was no one else who understood. No one else who could.

No one like Bella.

"A penny for your thoughts, Joseph," his father's deep voice said.

Joe started and looked toward the red chair his father occupied. He grinned self-consciously. "You'd go broke, Pa."

"I thought from the look of you, I might end up a millionaire." His father paused. "Would you like to talk about it, son?"

Joe looked at the fire. "I don't know, Pa. It's kind of personal."

"I see."

He swallowed. From the tone of his voice, he knew his father really _did_ see.

Joe was silent for some time. Finally, he asked, "How'd you know, Pa? How'd you know mama was the right one for you? I mean..." He paused. Words didn't come easy, which was unusual for him. "I mean you'd loved other women before. Did it feel the same?"

"Each time a man loves, it is as _different_ as the woman he loves," the older man said quietly.

Joe swung around so he was sitting up. He waved his father's hand off and pulled the cover up around his shoulders himself. "I know you don't like to talk about Julia, Pa..."

The older man was silent a moment. "You loved her. It matters little whether I approved."

He smiled shyly. "Thanks, Pa." Joe paused again. "You know with Julia, it was all about...well... It was like I was on fire. I wanted to...possess her." His green eyes flicked to his father's face, which was masked. "I know she wasn't perfect, but I needed her. Do you understand what I mean?"

" _I said, 'I will climb the palm tree; I will take hold of its fruit. May your breasts be like clusters of grapes on the vine, the fragrance of your breath like apples_ ," his father quoted softly.

"What's that from, Pa?" Joe asked, his voice surprised.

His father's lips twitched. "The Song of Solomon."

Joe felt his cheeks turning red. "That's in the Bible?"

"Yes, son. Marriage is sacred to God, as I hope I have taught you boys. God wants you to love, to take a wife, and to find pleasure in each other. Your mother and I had a passage read from the Song of Songs when we married." His pa leaned back and closed his eyes. " _'Place me like a seal over your heart, like a seal on your arm; for love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyielding as the grave. It burns like blazing fire, like a mighty flame'."_

He wasn't quite sure what to say to that.

"Joseph, do you think you love Bella?"

"No." He was silent a moment. "I _know_ I do."

The older man nodded. "Are you sure what _kind_ of love it is? Are you sure it's not just deep affection for a young girl whom you think of as your sister?"

Joe's blushes deepened. He was pretty sure his feelings had _nothing_ to do with Bella being his sister.

"I want to marry her, Pa."

Ben pursed his lips. "So this is different than with Julia?"

Joe rose to his feet and began to pace. "It's different, Pa. I only felt this one time before."

"With Laura?"

He pivoted to look at the older man. "How'd you know?"

"You were deeply in love with Laura, Joseph, and not that long ago."

"It's been three years, Pa."

His father unclasped his fingers and straightened up in the chair. "All right, given I accept that you are older and mature enough to know what you want, what about Bella? She's barely eighteen, and from what she says I don't think she's ever had a beau."

Joe scowled. _Thanks, Pa_ , he thought. He had enough trouble thinking of Bella as a woman without his father reminding him he'd met her when she was eleven years old.

"She knows what she wants, Pa," he said, his tone slightly defensive.

His father looked at him. "I hope so, Joseph. I truly do."

It was kind of like his pa's words pulled the plug and let all the air out of him. Suddenly tired, Joe said, "Can I go upstairs, Pa? I think I'd like to lay down."

"Are you feeling all right?" Before he could stop him, his pa was on his feet and had his hand on his brow. "You seem a little feverish."

"It comes back when I get tired. I just need a nap."

The older man's eyes went to the stairs and then back to him.

"See you take it alone."

At first his pa's words had taken him aback. He knew how he was supposed to treat ladies and he'd never do anything to Bella that would hurt her _or_ her reputation. Then he thought about the night before when she'd been laying up against him, sharing her body warmth. He'd felt her legs through the thin gown she wore and even though she still had her corset on, the tops of her breasts had pressed into the tender flesh of his back. Her smooth arms had circled his waist and he had wanted more than anything to roll over and take her in his arms and...

But he didn't.

Instead he'd taken hold of her hands and pressed them in his own. He'd kissed them and the two of them had fallen asleep.

He wondered if she came tonight if he'd have the willpower to do the same.

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Bella Carnaby lay in her bed looking at the ceiling of the room the Cartwrights had given her. It was a beautiful room. One she had occupied twice now. She remembered when she was a little girl and had come to visit Little Joe at the Ponderosa, it had seemed the biggest bedroom in the world – bigger than her whole house and Pa's barn put together.

She missed her pa and maybe even a little bit more, her ma. As she'd grown older, she'd come to see how right her ma was about men. Her ma loved her pa with a love as ferocious as a grizzly bear's hug, but she knew him for what he was – a philosopher and dreamer. It was really Ma who kept their place going. Oh, Pa worked hard – really hard – but it was her ma, she'd come to realize, who was the glue that held everything together. When she was little, she'd thought she'd wanted to be just like Pa when she grew up. Now, she wanted to be like her ma. Of course, that wasn't anything unusual. After all, Ma was a woman too.

That was something Pa was just _never_ gonna understand.

The last year or so, with her living in town and working at the dress shop, she'd come to find she really missed her Ma. When she was little, she thought the older woman was stern and needed to live it up a little. Ma was always saying she had work to do when Pa took time to sit with her under the stars or to go chasing down invisible ponies or something like that. She realized now that had been her Ma's gift to her as a child – time with her father.

It was funny, now she was grown, all she longed for was the place she had neglected the most when she was little – sitting at her mother's feet.

Bella sighed and sat up. It was only midday and she was going to have to go back downstairs. She'd asked Hop Sing if she could help him prepare a cake for supper and the Chinese man had agreed. She knew from Little Joe that their cook rarely let others in his kitchen. But they'd become friends when she was little and they were friends still.

Just like her and Little Joe.

Not sure what else to do, Bella crossed over to the window and looked out. She'd been waiting for Adam and Hoss to leave. She felt like a fool for what she'd said. It had just come out on its own. She'd been sitting there, pretending to stare at the fire, but really staring at Little Joe. Even though he'd lost weight and muscle, she thought he was the handsomest thing there ever was. The firelight had caught in his hair, highlighting the tiny little streaks of silver that shot through it like lightning. The curls cascaded down onto his forehead, forming a little pile just above his upturned nose. He had the cutest little nose . She'd told Little Joe once it looked like an elf's and he hadn't been impressed. She'd tried to explain what she meant, but she knew he didn't understand. She wasn't talking about the kind of elves he and Hoss had seen once, who had turned out to be tiny little men. She was talking about the elves of old – the ones like Oberon in Shakespeare's play _A Midsummer Night's Dream –_ elves who were the perfect form of men.

Little Joe was the perfect form of a man.

Bella drew a breath and held it. She wanted _so_ to be with him. She couldn't help it. She knew what men and women did when they loved each other – it was hard in a three room house where three siblings had been conceived _not_ too. Her body ached for his touch. It was all she could do when she laid down beside him not to kiss his neck, to caress the small of his back and to run her hands along his beautiful form.

She'd talked to her Ma about how to handle her feelings, asking her about the time before she and pa were married. She'd counted up the days once and it seemed there was just _enough_ time for her to have been conceived after they married, but she'd wondered. Her ma had caught her drift quick enough and told her she'd most likely been made on their wedding night. Ma swore she was a virgin when she married and she believed her.

Ma'd looked at her then and said something that still astounded her. 'Elizabeth,' she'd said, 'you're nearly a woman. You are going to meet a young man one day and you are going to want to be with him. God says you have to wait until you marry, even if it's the man you'll spend your life with." Her mother's lips had tweaked a bit at the end as she continued. "But He never said there weren't things you could do to pleasure one another."

Her mouth had gaped and she'd listened to every word.

Still, she wondered if little Joe felt the same way about her. After all, so far he'd been a perfect gentleman. Maybe that meant he still thought of her as a child. Though the kisses they'd shared in the woods before Fleet Rowse interrupted them had seemed to promise more. Bella sighed as she turned away from the window and crossed the room, ready to head downstairs. Maybe she'd always be that child dressed in a pinafore to Little Joe – his dear friend and little sister.

Bella opened the door and stepped out into the hall.

The problem, was, she wanted to be _so_ much more.


	16. Chapter 15

FIFTEEN

Hoss Cartwright stood in the blowin' wind, makin' a face and hangin' onto his tall ten gallon hat with his leather glove. The sun was shining. What little sleet remained on the grass was melting away, and he was starin' down a long line of damaged fencing. Where it hadn't been twisted up and out of the earth by the fallin' tree, the fence lay smashed and tangled beneath its thousand branches. It was an old tree, probably near one hundred years, and its corpse stretched out nearly seventy feet. Its upturned roots were taller than him and Adam put together.

Jim Appleby's face looked as sour as his. "You can see the tracks there," he said pointing. "At least a dozen, maybe more."

He could see them for sure – the tracks of the horses they had spent a week bringin' to this pasture with its hills and hidin' places not all that long before. It was as sheltered as it got and would have kept them safe and warm – if they'd of been smart enough to stay put.

"You know them wild things. They'd as soon die as be cooped up," the big man sighed.

"And that's what they'll do. Die," Adam said as he joined them. "Unless we can round them up quickly. Have you looked at the sky lately?"

"Daggone it!" Hoss exclaimed. The sky to the west was growing dark and the clouds hung like full teats above the land. As warm as it was, it promised a wicked late winter storm. "When did that move in?"

"Just now. It's traveling fast," his older brother said. "The storm will hit before we have time to make it home."

"Looks like we'll have to take shelter in the line shack," Jim suggested.

It was Adam's turn to scowl. They were north and the 'line shack' Jim was talking about was the one that had figured in their dealings with Fleet Rowse five years back.

They tended to avoid it.

Adam objected, citing the time Freckles the pony spent there.

"I imagine the smell is gone by now, older brother," Hoss said, not hiding a little smile.

"I'm more worried about being greeted by a sack of flour in the face," his brother replied, smiling himself.

"Hard to believe that pretty gal back at the ranch house is the same at that youngin' what smacked you."

Adam looked thoughtful. "Yes, it is."

"What're you thinkin', Adam?" the big man asked as Jim walked away and began to collect their belongings.

His brother looked surprised. "Me? Nothing."

"Come on now, older brother, you ain't foolin' me. You're worried about somethin'."

Adam shrugged. "I guess I am."

"What is it?"

"Not what. _Who."_ Adam looked away, toward the ranch. "I'm worried that Joe's going to get hurt."

Hoss had the same fear. "You worried like me that mean cuss Rowse might get away from those men comin' to take him back to prison?"

"Thanks for reminding me." His brother frowned. "But no, I wasn't thinking about that. I was thinking about our little brother's heart being broken."

Hoss was stumped for a moment. "Bella, you mean?"

Adam nodded. "I think Joe _thinks_ he's in love with her."

"She's an awful sweet little thing. I could see her and Joe bein' happy together." Hoss shook his head. "He's had an awful hard time at love. I mean, look at what he's lost and he's barely twenty-five."

"I think that's what troubles me. What if what Joe feels for Bella is, well, a protectiveness? Like she's his responsibility?"

Hoss shrugged. "Ain't that a part of marriage?"

"A part," Adam acknowledged, "but not 'the' part. Love is...complicated."

Big brother should know after what happened with cousin Will and Laura Dayton. He'd known it too, when Marjorie Owens fell in love with Mark Connors and all them false things that shyster promised her.

"We cain't put our own troubles on little brother, Adam. It just ain't fair."

Adam glanced at him. "I suppose you're right," he said with a smile, "but you know, after twenty-four years, it's hard to stop protecting him."

"Feels like fifty, don't it?"

As they both laughed, Adam tightened his collar. "The wind's picking up. Let's get out of it and in for the night."

"That little brother of ours, how come he always knows when its smart to get laid up?" It was a standing joke with them. Somehow Joe always seemed to get injured at the ranch's busiest times. "He's the one loves horses. Oughta be him freezing his hiney off out here. 'Stead of that he's probably sittin' by the fire sippin' a toddy and smooching with that pretty little gal while Pa ain't lookin'."

Adam shot him a look as he took up Scout's reins and swung into the saddle. "Haven't you learned yet, Hoss?"

"Learned what?" the big man asked as he did the same.

"Pa's _always_ looking."

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Supper went smoothly. Or at least as smoothly as it could when two out of the three people at the table appeared not to be talking to each other. Ben stifled a sigh and leaned back in his chair. He and Hop Sing had exchanged several glances as their cook brought food to Bella and Joseph and then carried it away again practically untouched. The last thing Hop Sing brought out was a lovely chocolate cake decorated with chocolate roses. Apparently Bella had helped to bake it, knowing chocolate was one of Joseph's favorites. Ben had watched over folded hands as the cake was placed in the center of the table, and then as Hop Sing cut it and dished it out, and then – with wonder and not a little bemusement – as his chocolate-loving youngest son pushed away from the table without touching his piece, announcing he was tired and going to bed.

Something was _definitely_ up.

Ben had tried to draw Bella out once Joseph had gone, but she'd simply sat there staring at the cake, sniffing. Being the father of three boys, he really had no idea how to bring her out of her shell. He tried complimenting her on her dress and then on her hair, and then, reaching far back into his memory, asked her if something had upset her. If he remembered right, Marie had always complained that he didn't listen to her or take her feelings seriously, and had been quite charmed when he had done that.

Apparently he didn't remember right.

Bella turned red-rimmed eyes on him, sniffed again, and then excused herself and flew up the stairs.

Leaving him alone with Hop Sing and a most _splendid_ chocolate cake.

His cook and friend had come in from the kitchen in time to see the girl's flight. "What wrong with Missy Bella?" Hop Sing asked.

Ben threw his hands in the air. "God alone knows!"

"God very wise," the man with the queue remarked with a shake of his head. "Maybe not wise _enough_ to understand woman."

"Maybe not.," the older man snorted. "Say, what are you doing, Hop Sing?"

Hop Sing had returned the untouched piece of cake to the main tray and was heading for the kitchen.

"Mistah Joe no eat cake. Put away for tomorrow."

Ben slapped the tabletop. "You put that cake right back down and get yourself a plate and fork. If Joseph wants to sulk, that's his business.

"You and I are going to have dessert!"

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Bella stood with her ear pressed against the crack in the door as she had done so often before. It was past one in the morning and Joe's father had just come up. If she was going to go to Little Joe's room, she would have to do it now. She'd considering staying in her own room tonight. Little Joe was getting better and didn't really need her anymore. In fact, he had barely looked at her at dinner, as if he was upset with her.

Perhaps she had been _too_ forward.

With a little sigh, the blonde woman leaned her head against the door, wishing – for just a moment – that she was that little curly-headed girl again, the one Little Joe had been _so_ at ease with. Her lips curled in a smile as she remembered their exploits, lingering on the time he'd missed a throw and hit a tall pine tree and the shower of snow had nearly buried them. She remembered his hands on her as he pulled her out of a deep drift – so strong and so gentle at the same time.

Bella shivered – and it wasn't with the cold.

Returning to the area of the bed, she caught her shawl from the chair next to it and tossed it around her shoulders. She'd made her mind up. She _wouldn't_ visit Little Joe tonight. She'd just poke her head in and make sure he was sleeping normally. He was still subject to mild fevers. Doc Martin said they might not clear up until the summer when the warm sun could bake what was left of the infection out of him. Spring was just around the corner, so that wouldn't be too long. The thought of green grass and flowers made her smile.

The thought of leaving the Ponderosa made her cry.

Spring meant it would be time to go home. She'd leave and who knew if she would ever see Little Joe again. Sniffing, Bella made her way back to the door and opened it. Stepping out into the hall, she headed for her best friend's room. Quiet as a mouse, she moved along the corridor and then stopped in front of his door. Pushing against the heavy wood, she opened it just enough to step in.

And discovered Little Joe's bed was empty.

Panic gripped her for a moment as she feared he had been kidnapped, but then common sense took over. The threat Fleet Rowse posed was over and there was no one else who wanted to do Joe harm. Today was the day when a small troop of soldiers were to arrive to escort the villain back to prison, ending his five year reign of terror over them. This time, for the act of savagery he had committed on the stage coaches, Rowse wasn't being imprisoned.

He was going to be hanged.

Stepping back into the hall, Bella closed the door and leaned against it. A little smile curled her lips when she thought of her friend, Aurora, who too would be freed from fear. After what happened Aurora and her husband had decided to relocate in Sacramento. They'd bought a beautiful house there with the money she'd inherited and had left a few days before to start their new life. It had been hard to say goodbye, but she understood the older woman's need to get away. Aurora had asked her to visit one day and she hoped to do so. She'd like to do it with Little Joe...

Bella frowned.

Where _was_ he?

With a little shrug, she decided it wasn't her business. After all, he could have gone out to the privy, though why he would have chosen to do so on such a damp wet night she didn't know. As she stood there, thinking, her stomach growled once and then growled again. Loud enough it seemed to rouse the house! Bella's lips curled in a smile. Her supper had consisted of three bites of meat and about as many of potatoes.

She was starved!

Pulling the shawl closer against the chill, the blonde woman headed downstairs for the kitchen and a _big_ piece of chocolate cake with her name on it.

The great room was quiet. The fire still burned, but it was low. Its final gasps provided just enough light for her to move across the large area without bumping into anything. Once she reached the kitchen, she found she was hungrier than she'd thought and opted for some cold beef, bread, and milk rather than the sugary dessert.

A half-hour later, she returned to the great room with a cup of chamomile tea in hand. She wasn't sleepy, so she'd decided to remain downstairs to drink it. Since it was chilly, she made her was to the hearth and sat on the stones. As she did, the tall case clock struck three. Outside, there was a flicker of distant lightning and rain began to pelt the windowpanes. Bella closed her eyes and listened to the wind. The night had grown wild and there was a small part of her that longed to be out in it.

"You're like a May morning," a soft voice said, startling her.

After she'd recovered her composure, Bella cursed herself for a fool. How could she have missed him?

"How long have you been there?" she asked.

The slight figure on the settee sat up. The firelight struck his tousled curls and glinted in his large green eyes.

"I was here before you came down."

Bella noticed a plate on the table. "Were you hungry too?"

His head shook. "Pa must have left it."

"Then why are you down here? Couldn't you sleep?"

Little Joe was silent for a moment. "No."

Bella rose and went to stand beside him. The storm light coming in the window made his large eyes look hollow – haunted, even. She knew Little Joe was prone to nightmares and she wondered if that was what had driven him from his bed. As she looked at him, sitting there one the settee, she recalled the day five years before when the time had come for her to leave. She'd been sitting on the same cushion crying her eyes out. Little Joe had come into comfort her.

Tucking her shawl tightly about her shivering form, she took a seat beside him. After a few seconds, she leaned her head on his shoulder.

He didn't pull away.

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

He shrugged.

Bella took his hand in hers. "Maybe it will help? Telling someone?"

Joe let out a little sigh. "I had a nightmare. Rowse was in it."

She snuggled in a little closer.

"I was back in the snowstorm, tied to the saddle and dangling head and foot off his horse. I tried to get loose, but nothin' worked." Little Joe's breathing was becoming labored, as if he was reliving that horrible night. "I heard Adam calling me. I heard..." He turned toward her. She could see his profile in the pale light – the upturned nose, the dimpled chin; his long lashes fluttering against his pallid skin. "I heard _you_ , Bella. You were shouting my name."

"I did, you know," she said. "I shouted and shouted until I didn't have any voice left. I was lucky Adam found me."

"He didn't."

"What?" She sat up and looked at him. "Yes, he did."

"Not in my dream." Little Joe drew in a long breath. "Rowse threw me over that cliff and then he found you and he..." The muscles of his jaw tightened. "He threw you down and into the ravine. I broke your fall when you hit me. You just laid there and didn't move. Bella, I – "

"Little Joe." Her fingers went to his lips. "I'm here. I'm safe."

He hesitated and then took hold of her hand, looking at it as it if it was something new and wondrous. Then he dipped his head and kissed her knuckles. Bella felt the brush of his lips on her fingers; the touch of his soft brown curls against her skin.

It was electric.

"Are you cold?" he asked as she shivered.

She smiled. "A little."

Little Joe shifted. He was wrapped in several blankets. He opened his arms and drew her in so her body rested against his, lending her his warmth. Her hand went to his chest. Beneath the thin nightshirt he wore she could feel the rapid beat of his heart . The cloth was slightly damp, as though he had awakened in a sweat – that, or he actually was a bit feverish.

Slowly, almost of their own volition, Little Joe's fingers found her face. They traced her cheek through her hair. One lingered on her lips.

"Bella," he said, his voice soft as slippers on a satinwood floor.

"Yes?"

"Do you remember what you said the last time we were sittin' here alone together?"

She nodded. "I asked you if you were still going to wait for me to grow up so I could marry you."

He kissed the tip of her nose. It tickled.

"And what did I say?" Joe asked as his hand slipped lower, tracing a pattern on the part of her breasts that were exposed.

"You told me we'd have to check back in four or five years, that I might have found another fellow," she answered, near breathless.

Little Joe cupped her breasts in his hands and pushed them together. Then he planted a kiss in the hollow between them.

"It's been five years. Have you?" he inquired, his mouth against her flesh.

Her head was spinning. "What...? Have I what?"

The fire gave its last gasp, flooding the room with a burst of golden light. Little Joe's green eyes sparkled with mischief.

"Found another fellow?"

Bella shifted so she was lying back on the settee. She lifted his shirt up and worked her hands under it, wrapping him tightly in her arms; pulling him so close their hearts beat as one. As Joe lowered his weight onto her she giggled.

The handsome fellow she loved snorted. "Now, that ain't exactly the reaction a man wants from his girl."

She reared up and nipped his ear, and then whispered in it. "Josie was right, you know?"

Bella felt his body go rigid at her touch. Joe gave a little gasp and then asked in a dreamy voice as he kissed the hollow of her throat.

"Who's Josie?"

Bella's hands were in his hair now, combing through those long, spiraling curls; tugging on them as his body moved against hers, gently, sweetly, not intruding, but bringing her pleasure.

"She..." Bella's fingers curled into a fist as a spasm of joy rocked her. Breathless, she replied, "Daisies... Daisies...under the chin, remember?"

She'd been eleven when she first saw Joseph Francis Cartwright. The night before he came into her life, she had leaned over the creek as her friend Josie instructed and rubbed a daisy against her chin. The full moon overhead shining on the water was supposed to reveal the face of her true love and it had.

It had shown her _him._

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Bella woke sometime later on the floor in a tangle of blankets, arms, and curls. She remembered sliding off the settee as sensations she had never known overwhelmed her. Her mother had told her what to expect, but the reality was the difference between poking a toe in the lake and plunging in. She lay there half under Joe's weight, listening to his heavy breathing, delighting in the touch of her skin against his and, curiously, stifling laughter. Her mother had warned her about that too before she left home – almost as if she had seen this coming.

Surprised by joy, she called it.

Birdsong caused Bella to shift and look up. Outside the morning light was dawning. As she lay there, combing her fingers through Joe's hair, the tall case clock by the door struck half past four.

If she had been Cinderella, it would have been the stroke of midnight.

Bella looked at the Joe where he lay sleeping. She hated to wake him, but she knew his father was often up before five and if they didn't want to be discovered –

A string of startled Cantonese told her it was too late.

"What you doing on floor, Missy Bella?" Hop Sing chided as he moved toward her. "Fire out. You cold. You catch death..."

It was the first time she'd ever seen Hop Sing at a loss for words.

Joe was stirring, rubbing his hand through his curls and sitting up. He winced, looked at her and grinned, and then kissed her on the lips.

Hop Sing was on him in a heartbeat. Bella stifled a laugh as the man from China boxed Joe's ear.

"You no do that! Pull nightshirt down and stand up! Number three son in enough trouble lay on floor with pretty girl without kissing her!"

Joe grinned. "But she's too pretty _not_ to kiss!"

The man from China was shaking his head. "Sun not up yet. Too early make Hop Sing's head hurt. You get up off floor!" One hand went to his hip while he used the other to jab a finger into Joe's chest. "Honorable father find you, honorable Cartwright family have one...less...son!"

At the mention of his father, Joe paled. He glanced up the stairs and then back. "Hop Sing, you...you ain't gonna tell him... Are you?"

Hop Sing's black eyes narrowed. "That depend."

Joe glanced at her. He swallowed hard and then looked back. "Depends on what?"

At the sound of a door opening upstairs, the man from China grinned.

"That for Hop Sing to know and _you_ to find out."

Joe had come to her and was attempting to smooth her hair down. It was a worse tangle than his. Giving up, he backed her up to the blue chair Adam usually occupied and sat her down and then wrapped her shawl tightly about her, adjusting it a little bit where her open chemise showed. Then he handed her a book.

"What boy do about self?" Hop Sing asked, his tone wry.

Joe looked down at his nightshirt and gasped. As his father's footsteps sounded on the stair Joe picked up a blanket, wrapped it around his lower quarters, and then dove for the settee. As he settled in he turned his head and looked at her.

"For gosh sakes, Bella, at least look like you're reading!"

She opened the book Joe had handed her as Ben Cartwright's boots struck the great room floor. "Good morning, everyone!" the older man declared. He looked from one of them to the other and then asked with a grin. "What's going on here? Since when am I the last man down?"

"The birds woke me up early," Bella replied. "I was hungry so I came down for a snack and found Joe sleeping on the settee. I wasn't sleepy, so I decided to read so I wouldn't disturb him."

Joe was yawning mightily. His father eyed him and then headed for the steaming pot of coffee Hop Sing had just placed on the table.

"From the look of those twisted covers, son, you had a wild night," Ben remarked as he turned back, cup in hand.

Bella ducked behind the book and pressed her lips together as Joe flushed red. A second later he was fanning himself.

"I guess I still got fever," he said meekly.

"Number three son _velly_ hot last night," Hop Sing remarked deadpan. "Throw off covers and most of clothes."

If looks could have killed...

Joe stood up, holding the blanket around his middle and legs. "I think I'll go upstairs and change, Pa."

His father eyed him over the rim of his cup, taking in his disheveled appearance. "You could use a haircut, Joseph. That hair of yours makes you look like a soaked river rat when its wet."

"First thing Adam comes back, I'll have him cut it, Pa," Joe said as he backed toward the staircase. "I know how you hate it when its long."

The Cartwright's cook chimed in perfectly. "Hop Sing think Missy Bella like Little Joe long."

That did it.

She was _going_ to die.

Bella grabbed her cup of tea and sipped it as Ben turned toward her. "Are you all right, Bella?"

She pretended to choke. Wagging a finger toward her throat, she finally replied. "Went down the wrong way."

The older man stared at her.

"Indeed."

As she picked the book up again and pretended to read it, Joe's father took two steps toward him where he lingered halfway up the stair.

"Is there something else you would like to tell me, Joseph?"

Joe pursed his lips and shook his head. "Who me? Tell you? Heck, I ain't... I mean, _no sir_. I've been sleepin', remember?"

The older man's eyes didn't move, but she felt them on her anyhow. " _Alone_ , I presume?"

If angels walked the earth, they had to look like Joseph Francis Cartwright at that moment – a halo of golden-brown hair, wide innocent eyes, and a cherubic countenance that seemed to say its owner was incapable of sin.

"Just me and the fire, Pa. And Hop Sing, of course. Good old Hop Sing." He popped his eyebrows. "Ain't that right, Hop Sing?"

"Hop Sing come down find Little Joe sleeping. Missy Bella sitting beside him."

"I see."

The look on Joe's face seemed to say he was afraid his father really _did_ see.

"Can I go now, Pa?"

"Very well." The older man turned to their cook. "Hop Sing, how long until breakfast?"

"Half an hour, Mistah Ben."

"Make yourself presentable by that time, Joseph."

"Yes, sir." Joe took two more steps and then turned back. "Bella, you coming up?"

She looked up coyly. "This book is so fascinating, I want to finish this chapter first."

"Okay. See you at the table."

She'd never seen him run so fast.

Joe's father stood staring after his son for a moment and then came to her side. "So, you find the book interesting?"

"Yes, I do."

Dear God – what if he should ask her the title?

Ben made a clucking noise. "It _must_ be fascinating," he said as he reached out and took the book from her. Turning it over and around, he handed it back.

"Otherwise I imagine you would have a hard time reading it upside-down."

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It was morning and they'd already been at it for hours, slogging through mud that had once held horse tracks, looking for fresh ones. The pounding rain of the night before had just about washed everything away. The temperature had dropped with the rising of the sun and a chill wind cut through their heavy winter gear as they made their way further north, drawing near the hated Paiute graveyard. A gelatinous fog had fallen overnight, lacing the tree branches and underbrush with a thin coating of ice which the sun had yet to burn away. If it hadn't been so aggravating, it would have been beautiful.

Adam thought about waxing poetic, but decided he was just too _damn_ cold.

"You think Pa'd be mad if we just let them horses go?" Hoss asked, his tone hopeful.

"I think Pa would take the value of them out of our pay for the next two years," he replied, chafing his hands together.

At that moment Jim Appleby reappeared. He looked fresh as a day in summer. "What's the matter with you two? It ain't cold. It's bracing!"

"Where'd you grow up, Jim?" Hoss snarked. "The arctic?"

Jim's laugh echoed over the frozen land. "You two need to be home sippin' toddies. That younger brother of yours fair thrives on cold."

That _had_ been true of Joe, though Adam had noticed – since the time they had nearly died together in a snow bank – his little brother seemed to have less enthusiasm for it now.

"Little Joe don't need no toddy. He's got Bella to keep him warm," Hoss said with a wink.

"She sure is a pretty thing," Jim agreed. "Reminds me of that other girl – the one Joe was going to marry a few years back. Just plain sweet as sugar pie." The older man snorted. "What she wants with an ornery cuss like him, it's hard to figure."

"Joe's got his charms," Adam remarked quietly. While not highly schooled, his brother was quite intelligent. He also had a personality that wouldn't quit. And he was a gentleman when it came to the ladies.

Of course, looking like a young Adonis didn't hurt either.

"Hey, Adam. You hear that?"

He turned toward his brother. "Hear what?"

Hoss held up a hand. " _That_. Ain't that –"

"Gun shots." Adam drew his gun. "It sounds like its coming from the graveyard, or near it."

"Damn that place!" Hoss growled. "Ain't we ever gonna be done with it?"

It seemed not.

Jim had his rifle at the ready. "Sounds like a fire fight."

Shots were being fired – and returned. They had grown closer at first and then moved farther away. The three of them went shoulder to shoulder, guns at the ready, and moved toward the sound. The trouble was they really had no idea what to do. It was hard to step into a gunfight when you had no idea which side was which. Sometimes all you could do was try to stop it before someone was killed.

Including you.

"Adam, there's movement over there!" Hoss said in a terse whisper, pointing to the right toward a clump of underbrush.

He saw it. A flash of blue and gold cloth.

Voices were raised in the distance and more shots fired. The man they had spotted rose up and returned fire. Then he jerked as if hit. A moment later he staggered out of the bushes, making it about five feet before he fell flat on his feet.

As Hoss and Jim rushed past, Adam knelt at the man's side. He was a soldier. That's what the flash of blue and gold had meant. This man was a lieutenant in the United States Army.

Looking at him, Adam's heart went cold.

"God, no..." he moaned.

The man opened his eyes. He reached up and caught Adam's sleeve. "Who...?" he asked.

"Adam Cartwright of the Ponderosa," he replied.

"Cartwright...was...looking for you." The man drew a shuddering breath. His lower half was bathed in blood. Whoever shot him had known where a bullet tearing into flesh would do the most damage. "Message for...your father. Tell him..."

Adam leaned in. He held his breath, knowing before he heard the words what they would be.

"Tell him...Fleet Rowse...escaped."


	17. Chapter 16

SIXTEEN

Ben Cartwright stood outside the house, pulling on his work gloves. Since Adam and Hoss were away and Joseph was still not up to full strength, he was headed out to do something he had not done in a long time – chop wood! Hop Sing insisted hecould do it, but _he_ had insisted more firmly that the man from China had more than enough to do and he was quite capable of splitting wood – thank you! Of course, a bit of it was bravado, with maybe a little touch of pride. After all, he was heading toward sixty and he knew what kind of price his back would pay.

Then again, there was always a glass of brandy to take away the pain and an comfortable chair to ease into when he was done.

Joseph had argued even more strenuously that he could do the chopping and hauling. His youngest was right – he _could_ have done it. He just didn't want him to. After the...interesting...beginning to the day, and after eating barely enough to keep a sparrow alive at breakfast, Joseph had gone out to the barn to do some simple chores. The boy had come in about four in the afternoon, pale and shaking. He'd brushed the curls aside on his son's forehead and laid a hand on his skin. To his relief, he found no trace of fever. Joseph had mumbled something about how maybe he was pushing himself too hard and then gone up to lay down.

It was six o'clock and he still hadn't seen him.

Which was why he had decided to chop the wood.

The older man crossed quickly to the wood pile. Lifting a hefty piece, he placed it on the tree stump, careful to balance it so it would not fall. Then he walked over to where Joseph kept the ax and palmed the tool. Before starting, he raised the collar of his coat and buttoned it at the neck to stave off the chill. He'd bundled up, but had dressed in layers knowing all too well how quickly a man could build up a sweat while chopping.

Ben brought the ax down and its head sunk into the wood about two inches. Shifting it, he withdrew the ax and brought it down again and again, splitting his first piece. As he reached for another, Ben shook his head. That youngest boy of his! What was he going to do with him? And with Bella, for that matter? It was _quite_ apparent what had transpired the night before in front of the fireplace. Joseph was a gentleman and he was sure that Bella had not been compromised. Still, he was just as sure that the two had taken their relationship up a step or two and it was going to take everything he had in him to keep it from reaching the top of the stair! He just wished he could really know the depth of their feelings. Joseph was twenty-four and had been in love before. Most likely his son knew what he was about. But Bella...

In many ways Bella was still a child.

Girls married, of course, at eighteen and even younger. It was just that Bella had led a fairly sheltered life. She didn't appear to be very worldly wise, which, of course, was part of her charm. She'd been in love with his son since she was eleven years old. It was hard to know now if she was simply in love with the _idea_ of love, or if her feelings for Joseph were deep and true enough to sustain a lasting relationship that would – as was the course of all human relationships – be filled not only with love and joy, but with hardships and even tragedies. Ben brought the ax down on the second piece of wood a second time. In some ways, he hoped he was wrong and Joseph and Bella were right. She would make a darling, lovable daughter-in-law, a beautiful and caring wife for joy, and a wonderful mother for his grandchildren.

Ah yes, _someday_ there would be grandchildren.

Ben tossed the wood aside and reached for a third piece. It was ironic that his youngest might be the first to marry and have children. Though Adam said little, he knew the loss of two mothers had marked his eldest and wondered if he would ever marry. He was sure Hoss would, but it would take a special woman to see just how special his middle son was.

The older man leaned the ax against the stump. He took off his hat and ran the back of his coat sleeve over his forehead. Glancing at the sky, which was darkening with the approach of yet another storm, he decided he would keep at it a half hour or so before he quit. Twilight had a grip on the land. It wouldn't be too long before it was dark.

Ben took a moment to unbutton his collar and shinny out of his heavy coat. He laid it aside and then turned to face north, wondering how Hoss and Adam were doing. He'd hate to lose those horses. Still, there were things a man simply couldn't control like a tree falling and taking out a portion of fence. Like two young people falling in love.

Like the barrel of a gun pressed into his flesh.

"Hands up, old man!" a man growled, his voice deliberately distorted.

Ben's eyes went to the ax sitting on the ground beside him. He'd left the house without a gun. The ax might be his only chance...

"Don't even think about it," the man said as he kicked the tool out of reach.

"Who are you?" Ben asked as he started to turn.

"No looking, Cartwright! Face forward!"

As the tip of the weapon pressed against his ribs, Ben did as he was told.

"What is it you want?" he asked.

The man scoffed. "From you? Nothing. I have a proposition to make your sons."

The older man's form grew rigid. "My sons? What do you want with my sons?" Ben's mind raced. Who _was_ this man? If he was altering his voice, he must know him. "Who are you?"

"Don't you pay that no nevermind. It don't matter who I am, just what _they_ owe me." The man jabbed his ribs with the gun barrel to emphasize his next statement. "Now, let's me and you get goin'."

"I'm not going anywhere!"

"Suits me. I can just pull this here trigger, or even better, tie you up and leave you outside here in the cold so you can freeze, while I go inside and sit by your warm fire and sip your brandy. Then I'll just head upstairs." Again, a pause. When the man continued, his voice grew in menace. "That's where his room is. I remember. Upstairs."

 _His_ room?

Whose...

Ben drew in a sharp breath. No. It _couldn't_ be!

But it was.

The name came out as a curse. "Rowse."

The outlaw snorted. "Bet you didn't think you'd be hearin' from me again so soon."

He'd hope to _never_ hear from him again. He hoped the man would hang.

"Now, this is the deal, Benjamin. Either you go with me without makin' a fuss or a break for it, or I go into that house and find me that boy and press the barrel of this gun against his head and pull the trigger." Rowse paused. "Your choice."

Either way, Ben knew Rowse had a plan that would end with the death of his youngest, and maybe his eldest son as well. Rowse meant to kidnap him. Take him to use him as bait – for leverage over his sons. He would have to do something to stop it, but not now, not _here._ He didn't fear what would happen to him, but there were three other lives at stake – Bella's, Hop Sing's, and Joseph's.

"I'm gettin' tired of waitin', old man."

That was it. He would attempt an escape, but he would wait to do it until he and Rowse were well away from the house. Ben had an idea of where the man was taking him. The former Indian captive seemed to have an almost lurid attraction to the graveyard where the Paiute buried their dead. Once he got away, he could take refuge in the line shack. The boys would check it. He was sure of it.

"Should I get my horse?" he asked at last.

"I got one for you to ride. I ain't havin' you on no animal that knows you." Rowse spit again. "Besides, I already took yours and tied it up a ways from here, so's it would look like you left on your own."

As he nodded his acquiescence, Ben heard a loud voice coming from inside the house. He wasn't sure, but he thought it was Joseph, awake at last and headed out to finish his chores.

If the boy opened that door and looked this way...

"I'm ready," he said.

Rowse heard it too. "I _could_ just shoot him now and save myself some time," he breathed, close to his ear. "But that wouldn't be any fun."

Ben felt the outlaw's fingers lock on his arm. Fleet Rowse pulled him back into the shadows and began to bind his hands even as Joseph opened the door. The boy was looking back into the house. He had a piece of bread in his hand and was waving it at the same time he shouted something out in Cantonese.

"You just hold your horses, Hop Sing!" followed in English. "Pa ain't at the table, so it ain't gonna matter if I take care of Cooch first."

In spite of the danger, Ben smiled as his son shoved the bread into the pocket of his coat before adjusting his collar so the thick plaid fabric would stave off the cold.

"Yeah. It's be _so_ easy to pick him off right now," Rowse whispered in his ear.

His blood ran just as cold as the night. Death was here in the shadows. At any moment, it could strike like a rattler, taking his boy's life.

"I said I'm ready to go."

A bandana whipped around his head was pulled between his teeth, silencing him. As Rowse knotted it at the back, he laughed. "Don't worry, old man, I ain't gonna kill you. I'm just gonna let you see how much those boys of yours love you before I kill _them._ And guess what, Cartwright?"

He didn't want to guess. He didn't need to, really. He already knew what the fiend was going to say.

"You get to watch."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

As Joe stepped out of the barn, munching on the tail end of the piece of bread he'd pilfered from the kitchen, he couldn't help but laugh. Hop Sing was probably hopping mad and cursing him in four different dialects of Cantonese. Supper had been headed for the table when he left the house. Still, Pa always said livestock came first and he'd felt he had to take care of Cochise before he could enjoy it. He'd meant to do it before, but all of a sudden the lack of sleep from the night before had caught up to him and he'd just about dropped where he stood. It took everything he had in him just to make it into the house and up the stairs. It was when his head hit his pillow that he remembered he'd left his horse saddled and without any supper.

Which was what he'd come out to fix.

Joe closed the barn door behind him and then leaned against it. Of course, it was more than just lack of sleep. Much as he liked to have pretended he was over what Fleet Rowse and his Indian 'friends' had done to him, he wasn't. What he'd told Bella when she found him on the settee had been a half-truth. He _had_ dreamed of her being hurt and lost in the snow, but before that there had been other dreams – nightmares of him bein' back up on that rack, of Spotted Deer drawing blood with her rawhide whip; of Shadow Walker heating those arrowheads and pressing them against his skin. He'd awakened covered in sweat and shaking. That was when he went downstairs to sit before the fire.

Since he'd been little, sittin' or layin' on that settee when he was troubled seemed to be a cure for what ailed him. His earliest memory of doing it was with his mama. She'd hear him yelling and come to his room and scoop him up in her arms. Then she'd carry him downstairs so they could watch the fire. As the flames jumped and cracked, she'd tighten those arms around him and draw him in close and whisper in his ear.

' _There is nothing to fear, mon petit Joseph. It is only a night terror. Shh, my little one. You are safe here with me.'_

Yep, that old settee had seen a lot of his troubles. When his mama died, it was usually Adam who'd come get him and carry him down the stairs and sit there with him. Older brother Adam who – smellin' of bay rum and hair oil instead of lavender and milk –would draw him into the circle of his arms and tell him he was safe.

Joe grinned as he pushed off the barn door and headed for the house. Poor Adam! Until their father sorted out his grief over losing Mama, he'd had to be both Ma _and_ Pa to him.

After Pa found his way back, well, things were different. Adam went to college and it was Pa who'd come rescue him. Sometimes they'd go down to the settee, but more often Pa would sit on the side of his bed and talk to him. Pa would place a hand on his arm, or maybe run it over his hair, and tell him in that deep commanding voice that he was safe.

And he knew he _was_ safe.

Joe was almost to the door. As his foot hit the porch, he paused and looked to the right. There was a small pile of wood by the stump. He'd kind of expected to see Pa still at it when he came out of the house earlier. When he didn't, he figured he was in the barn. When got to the barn, there was another puzzle. Pa wasn't there and neither was Buck. Joe scratched his head, wondering where his father had gone and why. Then he shrugged. Pa'd probably told Hop Sing what he was doing. Most likely he'd find out when he got inside.

When he got inside where Bella was.

The curly-haired young man anchored a hip on the porch table and stared out at the yard, thinking about the pretty girl waiting for him inside. He'd found a _different_ kind of love on that old settee the night before – a deep hungry love that was only satisfied when Bella was in his arms. He didn't think they'd fooled Pa by much. The older man might have thought they'd been sittin' there holdin' hands and kissing and not doing much more, but he knew they were doin' something. He could still feel her little body under him, feel her hands inside his night shirt; her soft lips pressed against his. He'd wanted to possess her, to call her his own – to _have_ her.

But he'd never do that to her. Not until they were married. And that's what he was gonna do tonight. After supper, after all the chores were done, after Pa and Hop Sing were in bed, he was gonna ask her to marry him .

Maybe he'd even take her out to that piece of land Pa had given him, the one with the house he and his brothers had fixed up for Laura. The cabin was still there. It had fallen back into disrepair, but it wouldn't take much to fix it up. He'd put so much of himself into that place – so much love, so many hopes and dreams – it seemed a shame to let it all disappear. Laura had wanted him to love again.

Maybe she'd was lookin' down and smilin'.

Joe rose and headed for the front door. As he reached for the latch, the door opened to reveal one very irate Chinese cook.

"Food cold if you not come in! Missy Bella waiting for you. Not eat 'til number three son come. You come in now!"

"You know, Hop Sing...I had that piece of bread." He rubbed his stomach. "Not sure I can stuff anything more in there!"

"Plenty more for Mister Ben when he come in then!" the Chinese man huffed as he turned back into the house.

Joe caught his shoulder. "You mean _when_ Pa gets back, don't you?"

"Get back from where?"

"I figured Pa told you where he was going." Joe frowned. "He did, didn't he?"

Hop Sing shook his head. "Last Hop Sing know, Mistah Ben chop wood since boy sick and should not do it."

He'd argued with Pa about that. That's why he'd been surprised when he didn't find the older man at the stump splitting wood. "Pa's not chopping wood and Buck's not in his stall." Joe paused, truly confused. "Are you _sure_ Pa didn't tell you where he was going?"

"Maybe Mistah Ben ride out to check on Mistahs Adam and Hoss," the other man suggested.

Joe ran a hand along the back of his neck. "Without tellin' anyone? I don't think Pa would..." His voice trailed off at the sound of hooves striking earth. Relief flooded through him. "There he is now."

"Listen. Not one. _Two_ horses," Hop Sing said.

"Joe, what's wrong?" Bella asked as she appeared in the doorway.

He drew a breath at the sight of her and let it out slowly, fighting down the passion the sight of her aroused. "Its seems," he swallowed. "it seems Pa went out for a joy ride without tellin' anyone. I think that's him comin' right –"

Only it wasn't Pa. It was Adam and Hoss and they looked like they'd been ridin' hell-bent for leather for hours.

Adam fairly leapt from his saddle. "Where's Pa?" he asked.

Joe glanced at Hop Sing and then turned back. "I thought he was chopping wood." At Adam's look. He added, "It's a long story. I'll tell you later. Anyhow, I came out to take care of Cochise and found Buck and Pa gone. I thought maybe he'd ridden out your way?" Joe laughed nervously. "You know Pa, he probably figured you needed help wiping your noses."

His older brother shot his middle brother a look. It was grim.

"Damn!" he said.

That single word drove all the mischief out of him. "Adam, what's wrong?"

Adam glanced at Bella where she lingered near the door and then his eyes returned to him.

"There's no way to soften this, Joe. Fleet Rowse has escaped."

Joe went pale. He felt sick. "Escaped?"

"Sure enough, little brother," Hoss said as he joined them. "Somehow that scoundrel broke free and got hold of one of the soldiers' guns. There was a firefight..."

"Several of the soldiers are dead. The others are out canvassing the area to find him." Adam held his gaze. "You _know_ who he's coming after."

Before Joe could say anything, a large hand came down on older brother's shoulder. "And you know, Adam, who Rowse'll be after, after that," Hoss said.

Adam dismissed their brother's concern with a gesture of his hand. "That fiend didn't take _me_ and tie me up to a rack and torture me."

Joe's jaw set against the memory of the pain and humiliation he'd suffered at Rowse's hands. "No, he didn't torture you. He tortured _me_ to bait _you_ into comin' after him. Adam, he hates both of us. He thinks we beat him."

His older brother pursed his lips. Then he smiled.

"Well, we did."

As they all shared a wary grin, Bella came to his side. Joe didn't stop her from slipping her arm around his waist. If he was gonna marry her, his brothers were gonna have to know! He caught her fingers and squeezed them, and then circled her with his arm. She was shaking.

But then, so was he.

Looking at each of his brothers in turn, he asked, "You don't think that Pa... Well, I mean, he wouldn't have gone after Rowse on his own. Would he?"

"Pa has more sense that that," Adam responded, and then added, deadpan. "Besides, he knew _you_ were safe at home."

"Hey, I'm not a kid!"

That black-haired head shook. "Yes, you are, Joe. You always will be. At least until you have a kid of your own." Adam shot Bella a look, then his eyes came back to him. "Maybe _then_ Hoss and I will consider you grown up."

Bella giggled. He drew her in even closer.

Hop Sing had been listening to them talk. The Chinese man had said nothing more, but Joe could tell he was bustin' to say something.

"What do you think, Hop Sing?" he asked.

He shook his head. "Still wonder where Mistah Ben is. Not like father to ride away without telling Hop Sing where he go."

"Well, since he is the patriarch of the clan, I guess Pa can head out if he wants without reporting to one of us," Adam sighed.

Joe wasn't convinced. "He can, but he never _does_ , Adam. You know that."

Hoss was wrinkling his nose and sniffing.

"You catch cold, brother?" Joe asked.

The big man sniffed again. "Say, Hop Sing, is that roast pork I'm smellin'? And maybe sweet po –ta-toes?"

"Hop Sing serve supper half hour ago. No one eat. Should throw away."

"You ain't gonna throw no roast pig away, Hop Sing!" Hoss was horrified. "I'm here now and I don't care if that pork's colder than snow. You just let me at it!"

"Hoss is right," Adam said. "Pa knows what he's doing. We should go in and eat. He'll be back soon or he'll send word when he can, one or the other." His older brother shrugged. "It's not like Pa can't look out for himself."

Joe stared down the path that led from the yard. "I guess you're right. It's just... Well, I..."

Adam's hand came down on his shoulder. When he looked up into his brother's hazel eyes, Joe saw it.

He was remembering those nights on the settee too.

A second later Adam used his hands as a wedge and drove them between him and Bella. As he was about to protest, his big brother circled them both with an arm.

"Come on, you two lovebirds," he said as he aimed them for the door, "you've got to eat something. You can't live on love alone."

Joe's ears went red as Bella coughed.

He didn't know why not.

It was every bit as good as roast pork.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Supper was over and it was going on eight o'clock. Pa still hadn't showed. They were all sitting in the great room except for Hop Sing who was in the kitchen. He'd apparently decided that tanning the hind ends of his pots and pans would ease his mind, 'cause he was makin' quite a ruckus. Bella was playing checkers with Hoss and beatin' the pants off of middle brother. Adam was reading a book.

And he, well, he was pacing.

"Joe," Adam called without looking up from his book, "Pa's a big boy now."

He could tell it amused his big brother no end that the boot was, so to speak, on the other foot. It was usually his pa pacing a rut into the floor, worrying about him.

"I just can't shake the feelin' something's wrong, Adam."

"Ah, the famous Cartwright intuition," his brother said as he placed the book on the table by his chair. "It's odd that _yours_ is the only one working right now."

"Adam."

They both turned toward Hoss. He'd finished his game with Bella and was looking right at them.

"It ain't only Joe. I've got that _feelin'_ about Pa too."

Their elder brother scowled. "Come now. How many times has Pa gotten himself into some kind of trouble that he couldn't get himself out of?"

"There was that time he got shanghaied in San Francisco," Hoss said.

"And the time Sam Bryant kidnapped him," Joe chimed in.

His middle brother nodded. "And then there was that day that poacher shot him and we all thought he was dead."

Joe was warming up to the subject now. "And the time not all that long back when Pa got held hostage in that mine."

Adam threw his hands into the air. "All right! All right! I surrender! _Good grief!_ It would be nice if your memories were that clear when it came to doing your chores."

"So what are we gonna do?" the big man asked as he rose to his feet.

"Yeah, Adam. What do you think?"

They were both looking to Adam. It probably wasn't fair. Just because he was older, they expected him to have all the answers. That had to get old.

Big brother glanced out the window. "It's dark now. There's not much we can do until morning."

That wasn't the answer he wanted. "If Pa is in trouble, that's a whole lot of hours for him to be out there on his own. I say we go after him now."

Joe saw Hoss glance at Bella. She hadn't said anything, like she felt it wasn't right to enter their family discussion.

Family.

Soon _she'd_ be family too.

That was, if he ever got to ask her if she wanted to be.

"You know," Hoss said as he came to stand beside him, "with Adam and me ridin' in and supper bein' ready, we never took a look around the yard and all."

"Pa's horse is gone," Joe countered. "He had to have ridden off."

His giant of a brother scratched his head. "Maybe Buck broke lose and Pa went lookin' for him..."

"And something happened?" Joe nodded. "Maybe."

"All right," Adam said. "Let's get moving." The minute older brother made up his mind, he was on the move. "Hoss, gets some lanterns and then you take a look at the barn and outbuildings. I'll check the surrounding yard and then we'll fan out."

"Hey! What about me?" Joe demanded.

Adam shot him a look. Then his eyes rolled over to Bella. "We need you to hold the fort, Joe. In case Pa comes back here."

Joe glanced at her. What was Adam...? Then he realized.

She was scared.

Looking at her, standing there with her arms wrapped around her chest; her big blue eyes fixed on him and asking him to make it better, it hit him hard. Suddenly, he knew what Pa meant when he told him to take it slow. Bella was his responsibility now and when he married her, she'd be his responsibility _forever._ Her welfare would have to come _before_ that of his brothers and his pa. And women weren't like men.

They needed a whole lot more upkeep.

"Joe?"

He shook himself. "Sure thing, Adam. I'll hold the fort, like you said."

His brother reached out and gently slapped his face. Adam mouthed 'thanks' to him and then headed for the peg rack where their coats and hats hung. Once they were both bundled up, his brothers headed out the door.

Joe turned back to Bella. For a moment neither of them said anything, then they both spoke at once.

"Bella, I'm sorry..."

"Joe, I'm sorry..."

He laughed. She already sounded like a Cartwright.

Crossing over to where she stood by the hearth, he took her hand in his. "What are you apologizing for? You haven't got anything to be sorry about."

A single tear slid down her cheek. "If not for me, you'd be out looking for your father. I _know_ you want to."

"Sure, I want to," he said, reaching up and chasing the tear away. "But I want to be here with you even more."

"Do you mean that?" she sniffed. "I'm not a burden?"

He kissed her on the lips and then he drew her into his arms. "You couldn't ever be a burden, Bella. I love you."

She was softly sobbing into his shirt. He could feel the warmth of her tears on his skin. "I love you too, Joe. _So_ much."

"Hey," he said, suddenly realizing something, "what happened to the 'little'?"

She looked up at him, puzzled.

" _Little_ Joe, remember?" he said. "You're callin' me just 'Joe' now."

He felt her arms circle his waist. She smiled a little teasing smile and then nestled against him. Her hand touched his inner thigh.

"There's nothing _little_ about you."

He couldn't help it. He felt his body responding. In a panic to escape before he embarrassed himself again, Joe looked around for some avenue of escape. He found it in the dying fire.

"Will you look at that? The fire's about out. Pa never did bring in that wood." He kissed her quick on the forehead as he pulled away and headed for the door. "I'll be back in a minute," he shouted over his shoulder as he stepped outside. "You just hold that thought!"

Outside the night air was cold and crisp. Above him the sky was a black piece of cloth punctured with white stars. Their light rained down and lit the yard enough that he could see. As he stepped off the porch and moved toward the wood pile, he breathed in deeply. After a minute or two, the combination of the cold night and the fresh air had the desired effect and he was able to think about something other than Bella and her tiny waist and soft little breasts. He was able to remember that the woman he loved was probably just as cold as he was with no fire. Joe shook himself and turned to pick up some of the wood his father had split earlier. As he did, he froze.

There was a piece of paper on the stump, driven part way into it by the ax head. He could just make out some scratchy writing on the paper.

With trembling hands Joe took hold of the ax and pulled it out. The paper came with it and fluttered to the ground in two pieces before he could catch it. Bending over, Joe picked them up and walked to the porch where the brightness spilling through his father's office window provided enough light to read them.

 _Joe Cartwright._

 _I bet you've been lookin' for your Pa. You ain't gonna find him less I want you to, so you'd best do as I say. Don't tell no one else about this. You do and your pa is dead. You and that high and mighty older brother of yours need to find some excuse to leave the house. Follow the trail I'm leavin'. You'll find your pa at the end of it. If you want to find him alive, you'd best do it by sundown tomorrow. Come with no guns or bullets, or a bullet is what he's gonna get._

 _You know I say what I mean._

 _Rowse_

Joe stared at the paper, horrified. He _knew_ something was wrong. He just knew it! But not this. Not...Fleet Rowse kidnapping his father!

"Joe?"

The curly-haired man looked up to find his middle brother approaching. Hoss was carrying a lantern and its light cast stripes of shadow and light on the hard frozen earth.

"What you got there?" Hoss asked as he neared the porch.

He folded the note and placed it in his pocket.

"You done checking the buildings?" Joe asked.

His brother nodded. "Yeah. Ain't no sign of Pa.".

"Adam ought to be back anytime. Maybe he'll have better luck."

"Maybe."

Joe hesitated. "Well, I better get this wood in. Bella's probably turned into an icicle by now."

His brother watched as he loaded an armful of wood and then said, "You never told me what was in that there letter you was holdin'."

He shrugged. "It's from Bella. You know girls."

Hoss was eying him suspiciously. "You sure about that."

"Of course, I'm sure. What do you think? I don't know my own girl's handwriting?"

"Maybe not as well as I know my youngest brother. You willin' to swear to me that note ain't got anythin' to do with Pa disappearin'?"

Joe swallowed hard. "I promise you it ain't."

And so, the lying began.


	18. Chapter 17

SEVENTEEN

He'd been right.

For whatever reason, Fleet Rowse had a strange obsession with the Paiute graveyard and once again that was where Ben found himself. It was here Rowse had told him to leave the ransom money five years before when he took Joseph. And here just recently where the villain had tied his youngest to a rack and tortured him. He had no illusions about what the man who held him was capable of, or what the outlaw's intentions were now. Fleet Rowse had taken him in order to force Joe's hand – to draw his youngest into some sort of a showdown. He'd seen Rowse leave the note on the stump. The outlaw had told him what it said. First and foremost, the villain hated Joseph. Adam came in a close second. He, he imagined, was third in line since he'd been with the posse Roy had raised the day they had taken him down.

Hoss, it seemed, was the only one who might be safe from the villain's need for revenge.

The note instructed Adam and Joseph to come to the graveyard alone in order to secure his freedom. His boys knew as well as he did that this was a trap. Rowse would take and kill them, and then kill him. At least, he hoped he meant to kill him.

If he had to witness the death of two of his sons, he wasn't sure he would have the ability...or the faith...to go on.

Ben shifted to ease the pain in his back. Rowse had tied him to one of the two crossed poles that had been driven into the ground at the far eastern edge of the graveyard to give warning no one should venture farther. He'd tried to rock it without success. He'd attempted to loosen the ropes that bound his hands as well, but to no avail. Rowse's gag was still in his mouth. His hat was missing as was his coat. Sitting there, exposed to the dropping temperatures and pelted by the sporadic showers of sleet, he was quickly growing miserable. The fifty-plus years he'd walked the earth had made him less able to withstand the elements. Still, he was determined to find a way to escape. He had too.

He had to do it for his boys.

"Enjoyin' the view, Cartwright?" Rowse asked. The man was sitting close to the fire.

Of course, he couldn't answer.

The outlaw looked up. "Ain't too long 'til nightfall. Them boys of yours should be arrivin' any time."

God willing, they hadn't even found the note.

Fleet Rowse rose to his feet and came over to stand beside him. "You got yourself a right good seat there. Front row, so you can see everything."

Ben's jaw was tight. Even though he couldn't speak, he expressed his repulsion and rage with his eyes.

"You hate me, don't you? Well, that's all right. I like bein' hated." The villain sneered as he leaned down and undid the knot. The bandana that had silenced him fell to his shoulders and then to the ground. "You Cartwrights ain't like that – are you? You want people to think right well of you, to think you're _good_ men. Shows what they know."

"My sons _are_ good men," Ben shot back. His throat was raw and his voice rough. "But then you wouldn't know if a thing was good or decent, would you?"

Rowse stared at him for a moment. Then he snorted. "I see where that young one of yours gets his mouth."

He was not about to discuss Joseph with a man who wanted him dead.

"You know this will never work," he said instead. "My sons will find a way to free me without surrendering to your plan."

"Will they now?" Rowse sat on a rock close by him. "You and me, we've known each other, what? Five years now? That youngest boy of yours, he's a pistol. Loudmouthed and just buckin' to be taken down. The way I figure it, there's only one thing on the earth that would make him docile like a lamb led to the slaughter and that's the fact that I got you. "Thought about takin' that little gal of his too, but I decided she'd be too much trouble." The villain spit. "Women. They're fit for only one thing."

Odious. That was the only word he could think of. Fleet Rowse was an _odious_ man.

Thank God his misogyny had kept Bella out of this.

"Then there's that oldest son of yours. He's a lot like you too, only in a cold calculatin' kind of way. I ain't forgiven him for makin' me shed myself of that meal ticket."

The 'meal ticket' being Joseph.

"I have money, Rowse. I will give you all I have, and my promise not to hunt you down. You can – "

"You're forgettin', old man. I got me more money than I know what to do with. This ain't about money. It's about..." The villain's smile was mocking. "Justice."

Fleet Rowse lived in a world turned upside-down from his own, one in which _he_ was God, as well as judge, jury, and executioner. A world of malevolence and hatred. A world in which the only people who had a right to live were the ones who pleased him, and if they angered him, then they were his to dispose of.

Just as he meant to dispose of Adam and Joe.

Rowse rose slowly and crossed back to the fire. "I'm gonna grab me some grub and bring you a plate too. I'd advise you eat it." The outlaw snorted. "Last meal and all, you know?"

After that, he knew the gag would go back in. Rowse couldn't afford to let him shout a warning to his sons. Unless he could break free, Joseph and Adam would have to face this monster on their own.

Like Goliath, he could only pray that his Davids slew him.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam glanced at his younger brother. Joe rode at his side, silent and grim-faced. They were flying like the wind and it was all Sport could do to keep up with Cochise. His mount had given him several frantic pleading looks, but he'd urged the horse on.

 _Desperation_ was a word he understood all too well at that moment.

He'd ridden back into the yard just in time to see the front door close behind whoever had stepped in. He was grateful they hadn't been there to greet him as he had Buck in tow. They would know what that meant. This way, he'd reasoned, he'd be able to ease the pain the revelation would bring. Pa'd obviously had been kidnapped and he was fairly certain he knew who had done the deed.

He'd stabled both horses first and then walked to the house. To his surprise, Joe met him on the porch. The second his hazel eyes caught the look out of his brother's green ones, he knew something was horribly wrong. Joe didn't say a word, but held out two slips of paper. He'd taken them with a puzzled look and quickly perused the writing on them by the light that fell out of the open door. He felt the color drain out of him until his face resembled that of his younger brother.

"When?" he asked.

"I found it shortly after you left," Joe replied.

"Have you told anyone else?"

His brother shook his head. "What are we going to do, Adam?"

What could they do, except capitulate?

And so here they were, after having told a mountain of lies to Bella and Hoss in order to escape, riding from hell to breakfast toward the far side of the Paiute graveyard where their father was being held, desperate to make it before sundown. The clues Rowse had left – Pa's kerchief pinned by a knife to the north side of a tall pine, a pair of Indian feathers tucked in the crevice of a tombstone-shaped rock, pointing east – had told them where they would find him. They'd both suspected it would be there. There must have been something in Rowse's past that tied him to that place. An outlaw seldom returned to the scene of his former crimes. Of course, Fleet might have figured on that. The law would think he would steer clear of it and so, that was why he was there.

The law.

They had not gone to Roy and Adam knew the older man would be mad as spit on a griddle that they hadn't. Roy Coffee was a very old and very dear friend of their father. It was because of that, that they had agreed not to alert him. Roy was too close to the situation to think it through clearly and would be on their tales the minute he knew. He might even outpace them. Instead, they had sent a note via one of their hands to Nathan Eastwind. He and Hoss had found out from the soldiers the day before that Eastwind had been dispatched to track down Rowse, to bring him back into custody, and then escort him to the fort's prison. The army men had been deployed to search the hills for the outlaw, thinking he would head to whatever hideout he had used there after the stage robbery. Once the note reached Nathan, it would take him half a day to make his way to this area – far enough behind them that it would seem they had not violated Rowse's terms, and hopefully in time to help.

They were riding as fast as they could and had passed the line shack an hour or so before. Uncharacteristically, Joe had remained silent for most of the ride. He was taking it hard. Joe knew that he, most of all, was the one Rowse wanted. Because of that, he was taking all the responsibility for their father's capture on his shoulders. It was strange, this reversal of things. Usually he was riding beside Pa, setting out to locate his lost and injured youngest brother. It had happened so many times that it was like an oft-rehearsed play where everyone knew their lines and what was expected of them.

This time he didn't know what was expected of him.

 _He's young, Pa. Even if he's injured, he'll make it, don't worry._

 _You know little brother, he'll find a way to free himself and get away. He's strong. He can make it through._

 _He can survive the inclement weather._

This was a man in his late fifties they were talking about and, while Pa was no slouch, he just wasn't going to be able to take what either of them could. The weather was worsening. Sleet was falling and it was abysmally cold. They had to find Pa and find him fast.

Which meant they had to face Rowse.

Adam glanced at Joe again. His brother wasn't happy with the plan he had come up with, but in the end, he had given in.

He was going to walk into the camp and offer himself in exchange for their father.

Joe would hang back while he negotiated with the outlaw and wait until Pa was free. Their horses were worn out, but Joe would tell Pa to mount Scout and head out in search of Nathan and his regiment. He'd tried to get his brother to promise to go with Pa, but Joe had flatly refused. He said he would see Pa off and then come back and, together, the two of them would find someway to defeat Rowse.

There were two variables to this plan, of course. Rowse _and_ their father.

Plan A was to send Pa after Nathan. Plan B was unthinkable. He and Joe had agreed that, if he had to, Joe would overpower Pa and tie him up and leave him somewhere safe until it was all over.

Adam's lips pursed.

Maybe he should have let Joe go in to negotiate with Rowse. After all, there was no guarantee the one hundred and forty pound kid _could_ overpower their father. But then, what Joe lacked in stature and weight, he more than made up for in grit and willpower.

The other variable, of course, was Rowse himself. He was banking on the fact that the man liked to play games. The dangers were twofold. The outlaw might be able to overcome him, thus making both him and his father hostages against Joe, or – and from past experience he did not expect this – just shoot him.

Adam's lips pursed.

He didn't like _either_ choice. Not _one_ bit.

Still, there was little else they could do. Any idea of attacking the camp had faded in the reality of the vision of Rowse's first bullet going into their father's head. Bringing in the law would have done the same thing. As would taking their own guns in when they went to meet him.

No, this was as good as it got.

And it was time.

Joe had reined in Cochise. He pulled Scout to a halt beside him as his brother raised up in his stirrups and pointed. Adam saw the thin trail of smoke too, rising in a spiral toward the sky. Rowse was a confident bastard. He wasn't even _trying_ to hide. He knew them too well. He knew they would come and it would be on time.

He knew they would do nothing to risk losing their pa.

"You want to go in closer?" Joe asked.

The man in black nodded and then dismounted. "Let's tie the horses here and go the rest of the way on foot."

His little brother slipped from his own saddle, not as lithely as he should have. He had to remember that Joe was still hurting, not only from the physical torture he had suffered at the hands of Rowse's Indian cohorts, but from what they had done to him psychologically.

"Are you okay, buddy?" he asked, falling back into the name he had called his youngest brother as a child.

Joe started and then smiled. "I bet you wish as much as I do that we were sittin' on that settee after one of my nightmares instead of bein' out here, in reality."

Joe was a man. He hadn't really expected him to admit anything, though, in a way, he had.

"It would be great if a warm glass of milk and a blazing fire would make this all go away," he replied with a wry smile.

Joe nodded, grateful to him for not 'going there'. Then his brother inclined his head toward the smoke.

"Ready?"

Adam drew a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"Let's get on with the show."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Bella paced the floor in front of the hearth. There was something not quite 'right', but she couldn't put a finger to it. She'd known Joe for more than seven years now and she knew he'd been lying when he said he and Adam were riding to town to alert Sheriff Coffee to the fact that their father was missing. When she'd asked why it took the _two_ of them, Joe had glanced at his brother and then replied that it wasn't safe for either of them to travel alone. His answer to her when she questioned him as to why Hoss was not going with Adam was that he could travel lighter and faster. Worst of all, when she demanded to know if there was any danger, Joe had laughed and kissed her and told her not to be a nervous Nellie.

He hadn't answered any of her questions.

Not really.

She was alone now in the great room. Hoss had stepped outside to see if anyone was coming. He'd done it every hour on the hour since Joe and Adam had left, and that was three times now. Each time the big man opened the door, a blast of cold air blew in. She hated to think of Joe out in it. He wasn't well. He was good at hiding it from everyone else, but not from her. What that horrid man let those Indians do to him had hurt him badly. When her hands had run along his chest, she'd felt the scars from the burns. Hop Sing's medicines had softened them and Joe said in time they would disappear. But they were there now.

The memory of his torture was burned into his flesh.

She had a feeling there were other scars – ones Hop Sing couldn't tend – that would be with the man she loved for a long time.

Bella turned as she heard the door open and Hoss stepped in.

"Anything?" she asked, already knowing what the answer would be.

"Nope. Nary a sight or sound."

"We have to go after them!" she insisted. "You know as well as I do that they were both lying. They knew something." Her jaw grew tight. "And I think you know it too!"

"Honest, Miss Bella, I don't know nothin'. I..."

Her eyes were rimmed with tears. "They're in danger. Aren't they? Hoss, what is it? Who..." Bella paled. She remembered Joe and Adam's grim faces as they rode away, looking for all the world like they were riding out to face Hell itself. Suddenly, it made sense. "It's Fleet Rowse, isn't it? He's escaped and taken your pa."

The big man looked surprised, and then stricken. "Damn them two!" he exclaimed, and then apologized.

"You have to go after them!" she exclaimed. "I'll get Hop Sing and go to town and get Roy..." She stopped at his look. "You're not going? Why don't you go after them?"

The big man's crisp blue eyes fastened on hers. The look out of them was apologetic but firm. "Little Joe made me promise him I'd take care of you. I can't do that if I'm gallavantin' all over the country tryin' to track the pair of them down."

"I'll go with you then! That way you can look...after...me..." Her voice dropped off. Hoss was shaking his head. "Joe made you promise you wouldn't let me follow him too, didn't he?" she asked with a sigh.

"Yes, ma'am."

Frustration threatened to make her do something stupid – like throw a hissy fit and fall to the ground kicking and screaming like a petulant child.

"I hate being a woman!" she declared.

Hoss' smile was rueful but heartfelt. "I think little brother's right glad you are."

Bella paused before saying, "Thank you."

He looked surprised. "For what?"

"For accepting Joe and me."

"Accepting you for what?"

"Well, you know...the two of us...together."

Hoss came to her side. He was _so_ tall – more than a foot taller than her. She understood when he circled her in his arm what Joe felt. His gentle giant of a brother was a tower of strength.

"You know, Bella, I remember you from when you weren't no bigger than knee-high to a grasshopper," he began. "I think that first time I saw you sittin' at little brother's side when he was ailin', that I knew there was something special there. You was cute as a bug in a rug back then, all pigtails and piss. Made me think of that kid Joe might have been if he'd been a girl. Heck, I think you've done been in trouble as many times as little brother since I met you."

Was that a compliment, or...?

Hoss gave her a little squeeze. "Little brother knows it too. He knew you'd go flyin' out of this place like a house on fire the minute you knew what he was walkin' into. That's why he asked me to keep watch over you." He looked down at her. "I made him a promise that you'd stay here, Bella, and its one I mean to keep."

"What is Joe 'walking into'?" she asked, her voice hushed with fear.

The big man shook his head. "I don't rightly know. Them two brothers of mine has got lips that lock tighter than any six tumbler safe. I think they know where Pa is and they're goin' to get him." He paused, obviously pained that he had been left behind. "If you ask me, I agree with what your thinkin'. It's Rowse what took him."

"God, no..."

Hoss took her hand in his. "You know why I was willin' to make that promise to Little Joe, Bella?"

She shook her head.

"I've got faith in those two brothers of mine. _You_ gotta have faith too, 'specially in Joe. I know what it's like, lovin' that little cuss, and it ain't easy. He surefire finds his way into trouble faster than Moody's goose. Joe's got a good head on his shoulders. He just don't use it much. It ain't what moves him first."

"What does?" she asked.

"His heart. More often than not Joe's heart gets in the way of his head and he don't think, he just _does_ , and then he gets hurt." The big man sighed. "Lovin' him ain't easy. It takes a toll on a person." Hoss paused. "You gotta take that into account if you mean to marry him."

She paled a bit. "You know then?"

"It's plain as the nose on your face how you two feel about each other," he replied.

"I suppose it is. Are you..." She looked up at him, "Are _you_ happy about it?"

"Miss Bella, I sure as shootin' would love havin' you for a sister-in-law and truth to tell, you two would make the cutest babies." At her blushes, he grew serious. "But you gotta understand that livin' with Little Joe ain't gonna be easy and," he hesitated, "there's a good chance you're gonna go through more than your fair share of pain."

She nodded. Tonight had shown her that more than any other thing she had been through.

"Do you often get...left behind to worry?" she asked.

"Sometimes. Don't matter if I'm here or on the trail, I'm still worryin'. Ain't no other way with that boy."

"Maybe being married would..." She stopped. What? Change Joe? Did she want him to change? If she did, then did that mean she didn't love him for who he was?

" _Nothin'_ is gonna change that boy," Hoss insisted. "Not love. Not marryin'. He is who he is. What you gotta decide, Bella, is whether or not you're willin' to go along for the ride."

As she opened her mouth to reply, there was a sharp rap on the door. For a moment, she hoped it was Joe, but then she told herself she was being silly.

He wouldn't knock.

Hoss shot her a look as he headed for the door. He picked up his gun before he called out, "Who's there?"

"It's Captain Eastwind."

Hoss blew out his relief. Hers came out in tears.

The big man opened the door. "Come on in, Nathan. We sure are glad to see you."

The soldier removed his hat and ran a hand through his brown hair to straighten it. "I wish I could say the same. I understand Joe and Adam are in danger."

Hoss shot her a look and then nodded. "We think its Rowse. Is it?"

The soldier hesitated, then nodded. "Fleet escaped. It seems he has taken your father and your brothers have gone to bring him back. I had a note from Adam."

Hoss sighed. " _Dang,_ them two! I knew they was up to somethin'!" The big man stepped back, making way. "Come on in, Nathan. Take a chair."

Captain Eastwind inclined his head in thanks. Bella watched him cross to the fire to warm himself.

"You hungry?" Hoss asked. "We got lots left in the kitchen."

The soldier shook his head. "No, thank you. Time is of the essence. Tell me what is going on."

"First off, you tell me how you done got here so hard on the heels of this."

Nathan shrugged. "I was on my way here with a few of my best men to see your father when a courier stopped me and delivered your brother's note." He paused. "My commander believes Rowse has returned to the hills. I do not. It took some persuading, but I finally managed to prevail upon the major and he agreed to let me search this area."

"Where do you think Rowse is?" Bella asked.

"The Paiute graveyard," he said without hesitation.

That puzzled her. "Wouldn't that horrid man fear that would be the first place the law would look?" she asked.

Nathan remained silent for a moment. Then he said, "I will tell you, but first, might I have a drink?"

"Sure thing," Hoss said. "Hop Sing's in the kitchen. What would you like?"

"Some of that wonderful Pu-erh tea he has, hot, if you wouldn't mind."

"Don't mind at all."

Bella eyed both men. There was something – something she couldn't put her finger on. It made her dreadfully uneasy and suddenly, she wasn't sure she wanted to hear what the captain had to say.

Springing to her feet, she said, "I'll go."

Hoss frowned at her. "I don't mind fetchin' it, Bella. You sure you don't want to hear what the captain has to say?"

Yes, she was sure.

Even though she didn't know why.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Nathan Eastwind watched the young woman go, seeing in his mind's eye another beautiful petite creature with long spiraling golden hair and soulful blue eyes. The image pained him and he closed his own eyes for a moment to gain strength before facing Hoss.

"The Great Spirit put it in her heart to go," the soldier sighed. "The words I have to speak are not for the ears of an innocent."

Ben Cartwright's middle son frowned. "You want me to tell Bella to stay in the kitchen?"

His eyes flicked that way. "I believe she will stay until she is called."

The big man looked worried. "Has this got to do with any of my family what's missin'?"

"In a way. But only in that Fleet Rowse has darkened your doorstep."

Hoss indicated the red chair next to the hearth. Nathan took it and waited as the big man sat in the blue one across from it.

Then he drew a steadying breath and began.

"Have you never wondered why Fleet is drawn to the place where the Paiute bury their dead?"

Hoss nodded and then asked, "Is that where you think he's holdin' Pa?"

"I am sure of it. It is why I faced my commander's ire and a possible courts martial to come here."

The big man snorted. "The major was that mad, huh?"

Nathan's lips quirked at the end. "You might say so. You did not answer my question."

"Yeah, we talked about him and that graveyard, Adam and me." The big man shifted into a more comfortable position. "You gonna tell me why?"

Nathan turned to look at the fire. The flickering flames took him back to a boyhood he would rather forget. "You recall that Fleet was taken by Red Pony and made his son when he was in his early teens?" As Hoss nodded, he went on. "Later, he participated in the raid on his birth family's home."

"Aurora said he killed them all."

"So she thought. Aurora was away when it happened. Not all were killed. There was one other survivor. Another sister."

Hoss was startled. "Does Mrs. Clark know? Is she still alive? Is...?"

He held up a hand. "I will tell you." Nathan rose and began to pace. "The girl was not in the house when it was set on fire. She arrived home as the flames died to embers. By that time we..." He paused – yes, he had been there to his everlasting regret. "...we had dispersed. Some had gone into the woods. Those who were with me were in the barn, taking what we could use. Fleet...Many Kills...was with Red Pony. They were hidden in the leaves. Watching."

"Watching for what?"

"For Torie. My white brother knew she had not been among those killed. There were five children in the Rowse family, two boys and three girls. Aurora was the eldest, then Victoria or Torie as the family called her, and finally Bethia. As Torie was not within the house, Many Kills waited for her. He captured her and took her to Red Pony's camp."

"How old was she then?"

"Sixteen at the time of the attack. Seventeen when I married her." Nathan drew a breath as Torie's fresh face appeared in his mind's eye. "And nineteen when she died."

He knew it would take a second for what he'd said to register.

Hoss blinked. "You... _you_ married Rowse's sister?"

Nathan looked toward the kitchen. "She was much like Bella. Small. Blonde. Sweet and lovely and...innocent."

"How'd she die?"

The soldier's jaw tightened as he denied the tears that threatened to fall. "I am sure you noticed that Many Kill's interest in Aurora seemed, at times, _more_ than brotherly."

Hoss nodded but said nothing.

"It was the same with Torie. Rowse loved her, but in a depraved way. He saw me, not as a brother but as a rival, and was angry when Red Pony agreed to our marriage. By that time, I was drawing away from my red father. Perhaps he thought I would go live in the white world if I married to a white woman and he would be rid of me." Nathan drew in a breath and let it out in a sigh. "I was blessed for nearly two years."

The room was hushed. It took a few seconds before Hoss spoke.

"What happened to her?"

The soldier returned to his seat. He looked to the window and the world outside. "We had just found out Torie was with child. Our joy brought new rage in the man I called my brother. While I was away with Red Pony, Many Kills came to her and told her they were leaving – that she was to go with him and together, they would raise her child. She fought him. He..." Nathan sucked in air as the memory of what he had found upon his return came back to haunt him. "Fleet took her neck in his hands and broke it, and then left her body on our lodge floor for me to find."

"My God," Hoss breathed.

Nathan looked at the other man. "Torie is buried in the Paiute graveyard, on the east side near its edge. I put her there, in the ground as a white woman would have desired. She told me she did not want to be burned if she died, because of what had happened to her family, and I honored that. The next day I left my father's people and never looked back."

"You didn't go after Rowse?"

He shook his head. "There was no proof that it was he. Red Pony would not listen to my words. I could have killed him as he killed her – _murdered_ him – but that was not my way. I went away to school and then became a soldier. I knew that, one day, I would be sent to find him and deliver him up to justice." The soldier glanced at the big man. "That day is now."

"That's quite a story," Hoss said quietly.

"Yes, it is."

Nathan pivoted in his seat. The Great Spirit had permitted the woman's return. He had no idea how long she had been listening.

"I regret you had to hear that," he said flatly.

Bella put his cup of tea on the table. Then she rested a hand on his shoulder. " _I'm_ not. I know now what it feels to love a man more than your own life. Torie would not have traded those two years with you, Nathan, no matter how it ended."

Her touch nearly unmanned him. With a sniff, he forced a sad smile. "You are much like her."

"So you think, 'cause Rowse is tied to that graveyard, that's where he took Pa, and where Joe and Adam is?"

"His guilt binds him to it. Yes, I believe that is where he and your father are." Nathan rose to his feet. "How long ago did your brothers leave?"

The big man glanced at the clock by the door. "Three, four hours."

The soldier walked briskly toward the door. "It is time we go after them."

"Nathan," Hoss called.

"What?" he asked without turning, his hand on the latch.

"Rowse done said if we brung in the law he'd kill Pa."

Nathan closed his eyes and sighed, sorry that he had not killed his white brother all those long years ago. So much pain – such _great_ evil could have been avoided.

Turning to look at Ben Cartwright's middle son, he said, "First of all, Many Kills will take your father's life whether the law comes or not – _after_ he makes Ben watch your brothers die. And secondly," he opened the door and stepped onto the porch.

"I am not a lawman. I am the hand of God."


	19. Chapter 18

EIGHTEEN

Ben Cartwright shifted to ease the pain in his arms and hands. He doubted he had ever felt so wretched in his life before. Oh, he'd found himself in some tight spots – being held in a dank cave was one of them – but he'd never been so wet and so cold and so, well...

Terrified.

Adam had just emerged from the tree line to the south of Fleet Rowse's camp.

Just Adam.

Fear pricked him.

Where was Joseph?

His eldest raised his hands as he approached. Adam wasn't wearing a gun, just as Rowse had demanded in the note he'd left pinned to the stump for his boys to find. Ben's eyes quickly scanned the trees his son had left behind, wondering if there were others there, watching and waiting and looking out for an advantageous moment to strike. Maybe that's where Joseph was, along with Roy Coffee and a half dozen deputies. Or perhaps with a regiment of army men. He wanted to believe that his two sons had not honored Fleet Rowse's request and come alone.

Even though he knew in his heart of hearts, they had.

"Keep your hands up, Cartwright," Rowse ordered as his son drew near.

"I'm unarmed," Adam replied as coolly as if he was ordering a drink. "You can check."

"Damn right, I will," the outlaw growled as he quickly covered the distance between them. Rowse patted Adam down and then in one swift, unexpected motion, struck him savagely in the side of the head with his pistol.

Adam collapsed like a Chinese lantern.

Fleet Rowse placed his foot on Adam's side and leaned down to anchor the end of his pistol in his son's black hair. "I know you're out there, _Jo-seph._ I'd come out now if you don't want your brother's brains splattered from here to eternity."

Ben's eyes went to the trees. _Please Lord,_ he pleaded silently, _if Joseph is there, give him some sense. Keep him away. He'll sacrifice himself for nothing. This madman will kill Adam and me whether he shows himself or not._

As his youngest stepped into the clearing, Ben closed his eyes. Knowing Joseph, he had charmed God into letting him do what _he_ thought was right.

"Let Pa go," Joe said as he approached, hands up and empty. "Let Adam go too. You know its me you want."

The outlaw straightened up. He pointed his weapon at his youngest boy. "I got all three of you and I got me the upper hand, now why on earth would I let any of you go?"

"I know you're gonna kill me, Rowse," Joseph said, his jaw tight, "and I know you want it to hurt. You let them go and you can do whatever you want to me – take as long as you like. If you don't, I'll use everything I've got to make it quick."

The outlaw hesitated. "Maybe I want it to be quick. Maybe I just want you _dead_."

Joseph was only a few yards from him. Ben could see his son's eyes. The look out of them was resolute. Even if he could have shouted, the older man knew there was no way he could have diverted the boy from the course he had chosen.

"No, you don't, Rowse. Killing ain't good enough for you." His son's nostrils flared. "It's the suffering that gives you a thrill. You're not a man, Rowse. You're not even an animal. You're a _devil_."

The villain snorted as he lifted his boot from Adam's supine body. "You got that right."

Rowse moved to Joseph and loomed over him. The outlaw was several inches taller and at least a third heavier than his son. He was also in excellent health. It was apparent now, looking at his boy, that Joseph had been fooling them for some time. His body trembled and sweat beaded on his forehead.

Nevermind him looking pale as a ghost.

"You know what I got in mind for you, _Jo-seph?_ Where we're gonna go and what I'm gonna do with you?"

Joe's smile was thin-edged. "Sorry, my dance card's full."

Rowse looked puzzled, and then he roared. When his maniacal laughter stopped, he snorted. "It's too bad I gotta kill you, kid. You're mighty entertainin'."

"What about my proposal, Rowse?" his son demanded. "You let Adam and Pa go or I'll come at you right now with fists flying."

Ben bit his tongue. Words might make it worse.

"Them fists of yours ain't gonna do much against this," Rowse replied, indicating his gun.

"You won't shoot me. You want to cause me pain – to _own_ my pain. You shoot me and its over." Joe's lips echoed his tormentor's for sheer deviltry. "Now where would be the fun in that?"

"So what are you proposin'? Besides me lettin' these two here go."

"I know how the game is played. Give me the length of an arrow shot." Joseph removed his coat. "I ain't got a gun and now, I ain't got an extra skin. All I got is two feet and a lot of grit. I'll make it a chase you won't forget."

Ben was struggling against his bonds, straining against the ropes. Unable to stand it any longer he shouted, "Joseph, no!"

His son turned toward him. Joseph's eyes were misty. "It's the only way, Pa. If one of us has to die, I'd rather it was me. I can't live with your death on my conscience." His eyes went to his eldest brother where he lay on the ground. "Promise you won't tell Adam, but I feel the same about him."

"Like a lamb to the slaughter, eh?" the outlaw sneered.

Joe held his head high. "You want to hear my conditions?"

Rowse snorted. "I'll be damned if you ain't the orneriest cuss I ever met. What are they?"

Joseph's eyes went to his brother and then to him. "You let them both go. Now, when I can see you do it."

"Can't do that. You know they ain't gonna leave all polite-like. They'll just come after us."

He could see the wheels turning in his son's head. "All right. Leave them tied up here then. I'll send Scout and Cochise back home so Hoss will know to come and find them."

The outlaw thought a moment. "Done." A sneer curled his lip up. "What else?"

"If I last until morning, you let me go and you leave the territory."

"If you last 'til morning, Cartwright, there's somethin' ain't right with the world." Rowse drew out a rope as he moved back toward Adam and prepared to bind him. "You'll be dead before sunrise."

"Or _you_ will," Joe snarled.

Adam stirred as Rowse took hold of his hands and bound them behind his back. He blinked, obviously dazed, and looked up at Joe. "Never considered...there would..be..an option three," his eldest muttered just before the outlaw shoved a gag in his mouth and silenced him.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe met his brother's gaze and smiled. _Really_ smiled. He was trying hard to tell Adam it was all right. That he'd be fine, no matter what.

In fact, Joe felt strangely free, as if nothing could touch him. His pa and his brother would survive. That was all that mattered. He'd lead Rowse as far away as fast as he could. Certainly by now _someone_ was on their trail – Roy and his deputies, Hoss and some of the hands, or maybe even the army. After all, Fleet Rowse was a wanted man. They'd find Pa and Adam and set them loose. They'd have to go back home then, since they wouldn't have any idea where he was. He had no intention of leaving a trail. Pa and Adam would go home to the ranch house, to Hoss, to Hop Sing and his grousing, and to...

Bella.

God, this was going to _kill_ her.

Joe shook himself. No, he couldn't think that way. With God as his witness, he was going to survive. He was going to beat Rowse at his own game. He'd find some way to double-back, get behind the devil and take him down, and then he'd go back to her. Bella had been through an awful lot in her short life, and most of it because of him. He loved her, but he didn't know if she knew what loving _him_ might cost her. If – _when_ – he got back to the Ponderosa they were gonna have to talk long and hard about what they felt and where they wanted to go with it.

"I love you, Bella," he whispered between chattering teeth.

"What's that, _Jo-seph?"_ Rowse asked as he came to his side.

"I said, 'Hell, what's takin' you so long?"

"I set them animals loose. The way they were meandering along the road, you ain't got much chance of anyone bein' here before noon tomorrow." Rowse held his gaze. It was like looking into the face of evil. "Still want to go through with this?"

Joe nodded. It was his _only_ chance. In some ways, he was astounded Rowse had agreed to it. Then again, the outlaw was certain he would catch, torture, and kill him. Since Pa and Adam would be gone, he probably meant to go to the Ponderosa and burn it down once he was dead. So, he couldn't _be_ dead. He had to win.

He _had_ to.

Rowse stared at him and then took hold of his hands and started binding them in front of him.

"He! What are you doing? That ain't..."

The villain's dark eyes met his. "Ain't fair, you say?" Rowse snorted. "Never said I was."

With his hands bound, he would have a harder time running, and it would be almost impossible to cover his tracks.

"I thought you were a _warrior_ ," Joe countered. "What kind of honor is there in tracking and killing a man who can't defend himself?"

Rowse spit on the ground. "I ain't got any pride, boy. Call me a 'coward'. See if I care."

Joe cast another glance in his father and brother's direction. They were laying side by side, looking at him.

He could hardly stand to see the terror in their eyes.

"Let's get it over then. Let me start."

The outlaw stepped back. He pulled a pocket watch out of the slit in his threadbare vest. "Tell you what, _Jo-seph_ , I'll be generous. I'll give you five minutes before I start out after you." The outlaw stepped back. "Better than a bow shot."

It was at that.

"When?" Joe asked, ignoring the plea in his family's eyes.

Rowse snapped the watch shut.

"Now."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

In the end Hoss brought Bella with them. He turned in his saddle and looked behind to where she was riding with Nathan's men. He'd told Joe he would watch out for her and he couldn't do that if she was at the Ponderosa and he was on the road. Since they'd left the house, the little gal had been strangely quiet. Bella was usually a bundle of energy and ideas that never quit. She rode now in silence, her head down a little; her shoulders rising and falling regular as the tide with sighs. She was hurtin', for herself, but more so for Little Joe. Bella knew what kind of man Fleet Rowse was. She knew, like he did, that the likelihood was Little Joe was already dead.

Joe, and his pa and his brother.

Hoss steadied himself by puttin' those gloomy thoughts where they belonged – where the sun didn't shine. Their father always told them not to borrow trouble, like the Good Book said. He could hear Pa's deep voice now, rumblin' as he read that passage. ' _Take therefore no thought for the morrow, for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.'_

Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.

Nathan Eastwind's dappled gray horse came alongside him. They'd been riding fast and, since it was the army, had been able to switch horses near every ten miles. Nathan had two other horses trailin' behind him – a handsome thoroughbred and a pinto.

A _certain_ handsome thoroughbred and pinto.

"Where'd you find them?" he asked, his stomach lurching.

"One of the men came across them while scouting ahead." Nathan gave him a sympathetic look. "Like I thought, they were in the area of the graveyard. It looked like they'd been set free, but had stopped to eat supper."

"So you think Pa and my brothers are there?"

The soldier nodded. "Privates James and McIntire went ahead to see what they could find. I told them we would follow," he glanced at Bella, "slowly. Just in case."

"How far you think it is?"

"There is a thin trail of smoke. About a mile ahead by the look of it."

Hoss stared at the line of soldiers behind them. "You goin' in with them?"

Nathan shook his head. "We'll wait until the scouts return and then they, and you and me, will approach the camp with caution. The rest of the men will stay here. They'll guard Miss Carnaby."

"You think Rowse'll go...into the graveyard?"

The soldier nodded. "Many Kills does not believe the Paiute dead inhabit that place. There is only one spirit there he claims. She is why he always comes back."

"You mean Torie?"

Nathan nodded.

"You think he's hopin' she'll forgive him?"

The soldier looked almost startled by the thought. "For what he did, there can be no forgiveness, no absolution. If that is what he desires, then he will be sorely disappointed. While a woman might forgive a man who treated her ill, a mother will _not_ when the one who is hurt is her child."

Hoss pursed his lips and nodded.

"I guess you're right there."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ben had no idea how long it had been since Fleet Rowse took off, gun in hand, in pursuit of Joseph. The day was waning, so he guessed it to be six hours or more. And still He and Adam sat trussed up like two prime pigs awaiting slaughter. The older man glanced at his eldest son. It was hard to make out Adam's black-clad form in the growing darkness, but he could just see him. He was working furiously to free his hands.

Working, but not succeeding.

It was no surprise that Rowse could tie one damn fine knot. After all, he'd lived with the Indians for decades and that was among their specialties. Ben closed his eyes as he remembered his youngest bound hand and foot to the native's rack. It had taken Hoss several different knives and more than one attempt to free the boy from the knotted rawhide strips that had been used to suspend him there. This would be no different. Still, Adam was young. Fighting against impossible odds was simply part and partial of who and what he was. He, on the other hand, _wasn't_ young anymore.

In fact, at the moment, he felt downright ancient.

Adam grunted and he turned toward him. His eldest's son's head was bathed in blood on the left side, the result of the blow he had taken from Rowse's gun. Adam inclined his head toward the edge of the clearing. Ben followed his gaze and saw it too – a flicker of something shiny in the trees. For the first time he wondered if Rowse had accomplices that he had left behind to guard them. Thinks Twice was still free for one, and though the tall Indian had turned coat on his chief's adopted son, that didn't presuppose that he might not join Rowse again. Indians were like that. Practical. Expedient.

And when they wanted to be, deadly.

He was afraid for Hoss. By now the big man had to be on their trail. Hoss was the only one of them who was not in jeopardy and his prayer was that the Almighty would keep it that way. Hopefully his middle son had run into Roy Coffee or maybe an army unit along the way and, together, they were riding to their rescue. Ben looked at the sky. It was still dark. Any hope of finding Joseph would have wait for morning.

He had no idea how many hours that would be.

As his spirits sank, Ben felt someone touch his wrists and then he heard a blessed voice.

"Pa, it's me. Is Rowse around? We can't see him."

We. Hoss was not alone.

Thank God!

"Use your head to let me know, Pa."

He shook it strongly. _No._

The big man stepped out of the leaves. "Nathan," he called, "come on out! Rowse ain't here."

At that moment Ben understood what he had seen before – soldiers, moving through the thick leaves. The flickers of light had come from the moonlight striking their guns and uniforms.

"I got you, Pa," Hoss said as his gag came loose.

Ben licked his lips. The word came out as a croak. "Adam?"

Hoss had already moved to his older brother. He had Adam's chin in his hand. "He's half out of it, Pa. Looks like he took a right hard hit to the head."

"Medic?" he asked. Clearing his throat, Ben tried again. "Did you bring a medic?"

"Yes, we did, Ben," Nathan Eastwind answered as he too stepped out of the trees. "John is right behind me."

The older man slumped with relief as the army doctor appeared. There were two men behind him, bearing a hastily rigged travois.

Adam's gag was out now too. Typically, he was dissenting. "I'm...fine, Pa. I can ride..."

He pinned him with a dark stare. "No, son. No, you're not."

Adam wet his lips and winced as he tasted blood. "Joe? Hoss, where's Joe?"

"I was about to ask that myself, big brother." The big man looked around. When he didn't see any sign of his youngest sibling, Hoss turned to him. "Pa?"

It was a long story – too long for his sore throat and weary body to relate. Ben fought a wave of dizziness as he replied.

"Lost."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Rowse was playing cat and mouse with him. Joe was sure of it. The outlaw was fitter and faster than him. He was just takin' his time and wearin' him down. Already he suffered from several injuries. A bullet had clipped the left side of his forehead. He'd twisted his ankle when he slid down a muddy slope and it was swelling. Worst of all, his arms were bleeding badly. He'd had to use them instead of his hands to take hold of branches and pull himself up the ridge before him. He was near the top of now. Below him lay a sea of green, softly undulating with the wind that was blowin' from the north. Trees shifted and creaked in that cold wind, sounding like the masts of tall ships in a storm.

Joe didn't know how long the pursuit had lasted so far. At a guess he would have said six hours. It had been late afternoon when he'd taken off running and he figured it was after midnight now. The temperature had dropped with the setting of the sun and the late season sleet had turned into late season snow. It was cold as blue blazes and he didn't have anything between him and it but a lightweight shirt, a pair of trousers, and his boots. He thought about his Pa and his brother tied to those two poles and hoped someone had found them. Pa'd been putting up a good front, but the older man had looked like he was near the end of his rope. He just hoped he didn't get pneumonia from being exposed for so long.

Adam hadn't looked good either. His face was covered in blood and he'd been pale as paper. Hoss needed to show up and take them home.

Joe closed his eyes.

Home.

He'd never see it again.

Never see his family.

Never see Bella again.

It made him sad to think of her grieving for him like he'd grieved for Laura. He really didn't want to put her through that kind of pain. Still, Pa'd told him often enough that that was the price of love. If you loved, you were bound to know pain and loss. You, or the one you loved.

And he _did_ love her.

Tears entered his eyes as Bella appeared before him, looking like an angel in the silver moonlight. He watched as she reached out to him – saw her hand coming close to his own. It vanished when he tried to catch it like dew on morning grass to reveal another figure standing there, looking down on him like he was God.

Rowse probably thought he _was_ God.

Joe winced as the barrel of a rifle contacted his head.

 _Well, Mama,_ he thought. _Here I come_.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Little Joe's gone and done what?" Hoss Cartwright demanded.

Nathan Eastwind turned toward him. "He challenged my white brother. It is the Indian way."

"That don't make no nevermind. My little brother ain't no Indian!"

"No, but Joseph understands the ways of the native. He knew Many Kills would not be able to resist. Your brother is a good runner, and able to cover his tracks?"

"He can cover his tracks, if Rowse plays fair. As to how fast he could run, well, normally Little Joe could outrun a bee-stung stallion, but he ain't exactly in the best shape."

The soldier nodded. "So we should expect to find him in Rowse's hands."

"I didn't say that!"

Nathan met Hoss' crystal blue stare. "It is best to look at things as they are and not as we _wish_ them to be. Rowse will not kill your brother in a hurried fashion. He will want to see him suffer." When the big man flinched, he added quickly, "You have to think of it in this way. Joseph's mistreatment will buy us time to rescue him."

He knew from his Indian brothers that Ben Cartwright's middle son was a gentle giant who cared for wounded and lost animals. A man who could not bear to see others suffer.

Perhaps...

"Perhaps it would be best if you stay here and care for your brother and father while I seek Joseph. Adam needs to be taken to a regular doctor for care, and from what I understand, it would be best to do the same with your father."

Hoss shook his head. "Bella's taking care of that. She's helpin' _your_ Doc."

"She does not insist on seeking the one she loves?" he asked, somewhat dubious.

"Nah. She was right calm when she told me she'd stay with Pa and Adam."

Nathan's mind returned to Torie. He had been missing once, after a battle, and she had been forbidden to seek him. It did not stop her from doing so.

"How long is it since you've seen her?"

"Five minutes. Maybe ten. She said she needed her privacy and you know, well..." The big man looked embarrassed. "...she's a girl."

Nathan stifled a sigh. The Cartwrights, for all their combined knowledge, their multiple business dealings, and their social standing in Virginia City, sorely lacked in one detail.

Understanding women.

After asking Hoss to check the camp, the soldier took off at a clip, covering the ground between them and the doctor's hastily pitched tent within seconds. As he pulled the flap aside, the regiment's physician looked up at him.

"How are they?" Nathan asked, looking from one patient to the other.

The medic rose and came to the tent door. Stepping out with him, he said, "Mister Cartwright is showing signs of pneumonia. His son has taken a bad blow to the head. Both men need to be out of this cold and in a warm place where they can recover, and they need to be there _now_."

"Where is the young lady that was assisting you, John?"

"She said she had business to attend to," the medic replied.

"Business?"

"Yes, I assumed it was something private. She didn't seem prone to explain."

And being a gentleman John, of course, hadn't pressed her.

As Hoss returned the big man asked him, "Did you find her?"

Nathan shook his head. "You?"

"No." Hoss frowned. "You ain't thinkin' she went after Rowse and Joe?"

"That is _exactly_ what I am thinking," the soldier replied as he headed for his horse.

"How'd she know where to go?" he asked as he followed.

Nathan had mounted his horse. He thought a moment before he replied. "'And though she be but little, she is fierce'," he said.

Hoss was headed for his horse. "What's that? You quotin' someone?"

The soldier nodded. "Shakespeare. Never underestimate a woman in love. Bella will lead us to the man she loves. It is up to you and me to find her before she does something foolish."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe groaned his way back to consciousness. As he became aware, he tried to shift in order to ease the pain in his back, arms, and legs, but found he couldn't. He couldn't stop the pain and he couldn't move.

Not at all.

It took about everything that was in him to force his eyes open. They were crusted with dirt and leftover tears, so he had to squint and blink several times to clear them. What he saw puzzled him. Sky. Nothing but sky. Black as onyx, still as a day without wind, with an overblown moon and brilliant diamond-white stars. From the position of the moon he figured it was heading toward morning but, as of yet, there was no sign of the new day.

He had to be lying on his back.

 _Why_ was he lying on his back?

His answer came a moment later when that placid sky was disturbed like a lake is when a stone hits its still surface. A face appeared above him, leering like one of those gargoyles on the castles in England he'd seen in his childhood picture books.

"So, sleepin' beauty decided to wake up at last," a familiar voice mocked. "Sorry there wasn't anyone to wake you with a kiss."

Reality slammed into him.

He _was_ lying on the ground. His arms and legs were stretched as far as they could go and were fastened by leather thongs to pins driven into the dirt. Joe lifted his head what little he could and looked along his body. He had his lower long johns on, but that was it. His chest was bare and his boots and socks were gone.

Come to think of it, he was freezing!

Rowse crouched beside him. "You know, Cartwright, Red Pony and his Indians got it right. Just shootin' a man don't do nothin' for the one pullin' the trigger, or the one gettin' cut down. This way we _both_ get to see what you're made of before you go."

Joe opened his mouth to shout something back. It was only then he realized he was gagged.

"You got a right smart mouth, boy. I ain't in a mood to listen to it." Rowse pulled at the strap on his wrist, making sure it was secure. 'Sides, we can't have you callin' out and lettin' anyone know where we are."

Where _were_ they, he wondered? He'd run so fast and so hard, he'd barely paid attention to the direction. Joe turned his head as much to the left and right as the rope around his neck allowed. Shadows loomed above him. Raised platforms with long legs made of tree branches, holding up woven litters of leaves and bark. Dangling from the litters were bits of old cloth, strips of weathered leather, feathers, and strands of beads.

And the occasional skeletal arm.

Rowse had doubled-back – or _he_ had without knowing it. They were somewhere _in_ the Paiute graveyard.

What was it with the outlaw and this place?

"You know anythin' about Indian torture, Cartwright?" Rowse asked as he checked the thong binding his leg on that side. He spoke as casually as if he was inquiring whether he had read the latest edition of the Times.

Joe's jaw grew tight. He couldn't answer, of course.

"Well, let me tell you then. They've got it honed to a fine art." His captor rose from his side and went to stand at his feet. He pointed down. "You see this here fire?"

He looked. Yes, he saw the fire, or rather, the beginnings of one. Several pieces of wood had been tee-peed close to his right foot.

"You know what's that for?" the outlaw asked.

What was this? The man who meant to kill him, carryin' on a one-sided conversation as if they were friends? Joe wished more than anything he could tell the fiend to go to _Hell._

Rowse produced a match and a piece of paper from his pocket. He struck the match on a nearby rock and then set the paper on fire. After that, he shoved the burning paper into the dry leaves and bracken beneath the wood and kindled the fire.

Immediately his bare foot felt warm.

"I figured your toes were gettin' a might cold," Rowse said. "Though I'd warm them up a bit for you."

With a snort, the villain walked away.

For a moment, Joe wasn't sure what was going on. Then, as his foot grew warmer – and _warmer_ – and his the bare skin of his sole rippled and tightened, he understood. He'd heard of this torture before. The Indians would bind a man spread-eagled and build a fire at one foot and let it burn until the captive lost all feeling in it. Then they'd do it to the next foot, and then each of his hands, and then, when he was all but out of his head and screamin' for someone to put him out of his misery...

Joe swallowed.

They'd build one on his naked chest and give him what he wanted.

A single tear ran down his cheek. It wasn't so much that he feared dyin'. After all, he knew where he was goin' and he knew his mama was waiting there for him. No, it wasn't that. It was the idea of his Pa and brothers finding what was left of him and livin' the rest of their lives with the fact that they'd let it happen.

And for Bella who'd have to live with the memory of what they might have had.

Of what would now, never be.


	20. Chapter 19

NINETEEN

Bella knelt on the ground, her horse's reins in her hand. Her pa had taught her how to track and it hadn't taken her long to pick up Joe's trail. In her minds' eye she could see him running and running; his chest heaving hard as those muscled legs drove him forward. Then he'd fall. Then he'd get back up and run some more. And always there was another set of boot prints laying over his. Slow. Steady. Sure that the quarry they tracked wouldn't get away. She'd followed both sets up and into the hills. She stooped on top of a rise now, her fingers tracing the indentations in the earth that told her Joe had fallen and not gotten back up.

Closing her eyes, she fought back tears and then stood.

At the edge of the rise, she found something new. She knew Fleet Rowse had a horse. He'd gotten on and off of it every so often to check the ground just like she was doing. Now, he was riding it and had gone down the hill. The poor thing's hoof prints were driven deeply into the soft earth. It was carrying a lot of weight.

Carrying the outlaw _and_ Joe.

Bella stood for a moment, allowing the cold breeze to stir her hair and drive it back from her face. Mister Cartwright and the others were going to be furious with her. _Joe_ would be furious with her when she found him. It didn't matter. She wasn't going to wait in the army camp and worry and wonder when she could be on her feet and doing something. The blonde woman closed her eyes against the image that rose before them of Rowse's former treatment of Joe. The outlaw's hate had become the driving force in his life. Nevermind he had enough money to go anywhere in the world he wanted. He was here, on or near Ponderosa land, his single-minded goal to make Joe suffer and maybe kill him and his entire family as well. Opening her eyes, Bella gazed down the hill that led back to the Paiute graveyard.

That was something she was not _about_ to allow to happen.

On her way out of the camp she had 'acquired' a holstered pistol belonging to one of the soldiers. The leather belt hung low on her hip, fastened over her dress. She had never killed anyone – never even contemplated doing so – but if she had to... If Rowse forced her... Nothing would stop her from pulling the trigger to save Joe.

She loved him _so_ much.

When she was little she had lost a friend. Jennie had been swimming in the creek on day and drowned. She'd asked her ma why God would let such a thing happen, and Ma'd told her that everything that happened was in God's hands and intended for the good of those who loved him. Jesus promised suffering for those who followed Him, and pain and grief were used to hone and refine those who belonged to Him. From that time forward she'd looked over her shoulder, trusting God, but not trusting what He would do to make that plan work. If God's plan was for Joe Cartwright to die today, well...

Bella struck away tears.

Well, she'd better die too.

Moments later, returning to her horse, the blonde woman mounted and began to make her way down the hill, following the tracks Fleet Rowse's heavily laden horse had left.

It was all Joe could do not to cry out. It felt like the fire was eating away at his foot. He knew in his head that the flames weren't touchin' him, but that didn't matter.

He thought his skin was gonna split.

The thongs on his wrists and ankles held him so tightly he could barely move, but still he tried to writhe away from the blaze. Underneath him the rocks cut into his bare back. His neck muscles were cramped. He felt like Hell.

But he refused to make a sound.

He refused to give the bastard who was torturing him _any_ satisfaction.

"Bout done, Cartwright?" a sneering voice asked, breaking into the rhythm of breathing Joe was keepin' up to deal with the pain. A second later something struck his burned foot. Pain shot through him, sucking that breath away and turning it – in spite of his best efforts – into a scream.

A long, blood-curdling, gag-muffled scream.

"Yep," Rowse snorted. "Think you're done on that side."

Joe nearly lost consciousness. In fact, he wished he had. He was panting now. There were stars before his eyes.

He didn't know how much he could bear.

As he felt the skin of his other foot start to warm, Joe realized he was about to find out.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Bella reined in her horse. A chill ran through her. There had been a sound – a horrible, inhuman noise. It had come from the east. She was in the graveyard now, on the far side opposite where the army camp was. The wind was rushing, breathing cold down her back. She figured the graveyard must have spanned at least a mile. There was a chance the soldiers had heard it, but it was a slim one. The sound had been a strange one, curiously muffled and not very loud. As she dismounted and tethered her horse to a low tree branch, Bella listened, wondering if she would hear it again. Instead, there was a voice. Someone was speaking. The voice was low and hard to hear, but she was pretty sure that's what it was.

Drawing the pistol from her 'borrowed' holster, the blonde woman checked it to make sure it was loaded and then began to advance through the trees. Her pa had taught her how to shoot well in spite of her ma's protests. She'd bagged deer before. Bella swallowed hard. Shooting a man couldn't be that much different.

Could it?

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Nathan Eastwind held out his hand, drawing Hoss Cartwright to a halt. They were at the bottom of a hill. Bella's tracks, as well as Joseph's and those of Many Kills, led up the hill. They had been just about to climb it when he heard a sound. It was nothing the soldier could distinguish.

He knew only that it did not belong.

The way they had come was the one Ben's youngest had chosen in a desperate attempt to escape. Joseph had run a straight line and then begun to dart left and right, most likely in a vain effort to throw the madman who pursued him off. Many Kills would not be deterred. His quarry was weak. All he had to do was wait until that weakness wore him down and Joseph grew tired or careless or both.

Nathan wondered now if they should follow the tracks. Where they led was not the path Many Kills desired, but the way Joseph had chosen. If Hoss' brother had been captured, his own white brother would have taken the young man where he willed, and he was _certain_ that would be into the Paiute graveyard and to the place where Torie lay.

"What is it?" Hoss asked, his voice hushed.

"Did you hear that?" Nathan asked.

The big man shook his head. "No. Nothin'."

Had _he_ heard it then? He was certain he had.

"You heard no sound of a creature in pain? Low. Muffled as if it came from an enclosure."

"Or may someone with a gag in their mouth?" Hoss narrowed his brilliant blue eyes and he growled. "If Rowse's done hurt that boy again, I'll break him in half with my bare hands."

Nathan nodded.

He had no problem with that.

"Did you hear anythin' more?" Hoss asked.

The soldier shook his head. "I would guess it to have come from the east. The wind carried the sound away and not to my ears." He looked up the hill and then at Joseph's brother. "We have a choice to make. Do we follow these tracks or head into that direction?"

The big man thought a moment. "You think Rowse's got Joe in that graveyard, don't ya?"

His dark eyes echoed the concern in his tone. "Yes."

Hoss nodded as he turned his horse's nose back down the hill.

"Then what are we waitin' for?"

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam Cartwright was a very confused man. He'd awakened in a tent to find his father next to him, pitching and tossing with fever. At first he had thought there were at one of the camps and Pa must have taken ill. Outside the tent he could hear the soft sound of men talking as if they didn't want to wake anyone. He wondered if that was Hoss and Joe, but then he remembered that Hoss was home and that he and Joe had set out to do...

Something stupid.

The black-haired man put a hand to his forehead and encountered a linen bandage. It was wound around his head. He frowned, which brought pain, and then he had a sudden burst of memory that brought pain so intense he wasn't sure he could bear it.

Rowse. That _devil_ Rowse.

He had Joe!

Adam rose to his feet, thrust the tent flap back, and charged out of the tent. He stopped for a moment, getting his bearings and then looked around the army camp. It was full of soldiers some sleeping, others playing cards or resting. To the left of where he stood were trees and open land. To the right, about one hundred feet away, a sentinel leaned against a tree, watching for anyone trying to get into the camp.

Not for anyone trying to get _out_ of it.

The man in black placed a hand to his head. It was throbbing and his vision wasn't quite clear. He felt torn. Behind him lay his father, obviously ill and in need of his attention. But somewhere out there was his baby brother – the child he had practically reared – who was in the clutches of a madman bent on his destruction.

The only problem was, he didn't know where.

Adam stepped back into the tent. From its shadowy interior, he surveyed the camp. He was near where the horses were tethered and, even though Scout and Buck were there, Chubb was not. That meant his middle brother was on the move, seeking their youngest. And if the army had come, he was guessing – though he had no clear memory of it – that Nathan Eastwind was with him. Adam glanced again at his father. The older man was softly moaning. His exposed skin was bathed in sweat. Though it was just about all he could bear accept, Adam came to the conclusion that he could do more good here. Taking off into the night with no path to follow was sheer folly. He'd probably end up hurting himself. If someone had to come looking for him, that meant they couldn't be looking for Joe.

Moving into the interior of the tent, Adam gingerly lowered himself to the ground beside his father's sick bed. There was a basin of water and a cloth on a low table. He picked the cloth up, wet it, and placed it on his father's forehead in an attempt to lower his rising fever. As he did, he had a flash of someone doing the same thing to him. Someone with small, gentle hands. Someone who brushed his hair back and whispered that he would be all right. A woman...

What was a woman doing in an army camp?

Adam sucked in air.

Dead God!

Bella.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

No other sound had come, which worried her. If the cry had been Joe's, why was he silent now?

Bella took several deep breaths to calm herself. Her Pa'd like to say that the Good Book told you not to borrow trouble. 'Let the days worries be enough for the day,' he'd tell her whenever she got to worryin' and frettin' about those things she thought God might let happen.

Right now, she was terrified that the Almighty _had_ let something happen to Joe.

The hand that held the army pistol shook. She knew she had to keep control of it so she could shoot straight if it came to that. Clenching her jaw, Bella concentrated on controlling her fear and stopping the shivers that shook her from head to toe as she advanced through the underbrush. The landscape before her was eerie. The moon was full, and both high and bright. Its silver light turned the forest's browns and greens to a myriad shades of blue. Underneath the trees were tall scaffolds made of branches and boughs, which were the resting places of the Paiute dead. Here and there spears with feathers had been stuck into the ground. There were cast-off possessions, left for the dead to use along there way – weathered drums and broken down looms, boards for carrying children, and other everyday items. At the far end of the graveyard, near a tumbled pile of rocks, there was something else.

Light.

Bella sucked in air and held her breath as she moved forward. The light flickered, so she assumed it was a fire. A small one. It did little to banish the darkness and wouldn't have served to cook a meal, so she wondered what it was. The blonde woman paid attention as her footsteps took her closer. She couldn't see anyone in the camp. No one was standing or sitting by the fire. Bella narrowed her eyes. Maybe someone _was_ laying on the ground. Someone who was sleeping? Someone...

She gasped.

It was Joe!

Holstering her gun, she made her way quickly to his side. What she found when she knelt by him made her go cold. Joe was half-naked and bound to the earth hand and foot by thongs tied to wooden pins that had been driven into the ground. But worse than that, the fire she had seen had been built next to his left foot, which was bare.

She could smell flesh roasting.

Horrified, Bella struck out with her left hand, heedless of what the fire would do to it, and shoved the embers away from Joe's foot. As she did, she caught a glimpse of his other foot and realized the damage had already been done there. Tears streamed down her face as she turned back to him. Joe hadn't moved. He had in no way acknowledged she was there. Steeling herself, she laid her throbbing hand on his chest. His skin was so cold! When she felt nothing, she lowered her head and placed her ear over his heart and listened.

It was beating. Thin. Thready.

But there.

"Now ain't that just about the sweetest thing I ever saw," a man said, his tone laced with irony and menace.

Bella was on her feet in an instant. A second later the gun was in her good hand.

"You get away from him, you _bastard!"_ she shouted.

Fleet Rowse, the devil from her nightmares, sneered. "You ain't gonna shoot me, little lady. You ain't got it in you."

"Just you try me," she replied, her jaw tense.

Rowse raised his hands. "I ain't armed. Is shootin' me and savin' your boyfriend here, worth bein' convicted of murder?"

With her injured hand, she steadied the gun. Her finger was on the trigger. Still, she hesitated. _Would_ it be murder? Her eyes flicked to Joe and back.

If it was, it would be worth it.

"Like I said," she answered, her tone matching his, "you just try me."

Rowse stared at her a moment. "You remind me of someone, you know?"

She shook her head. "I don't care."

He turned toward a knee-high stone. At first she thought it was natural, but then she realized it was a tombstone. A white man's tombstone in an Indian's cemetery.

"That's Torie," he said. "My little sister. She had spunk just like you."

"And you killed her for it," she said, knowing it was true.

Rowse turned and faced her and what she saw was not a man but a demon.

"Yeah. Just like I'm going to kill you."

He'd lied. He had on of those long coats on – the kind with a hole in the pocket and a pocket with a shotgun in it. His hand was coming out, drawing the weapon, she had to... Had to...

Bella's finger closed on the trigger. The gun went off.

Fleet Rowse went down.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Sometime later – she had no idea how long – strong hands fell on her shoulders, gripping her and turning her into the man's embrace. At the same time she felt a large presence push past her. Whoever it was kicked the fallen gun from Fleet Rowse's hand and then knelt to check his pulse.

"Is...is he...dead?" she asked, her voice as shaken as she was.

Hoss Cartwright rose to his feet. "He's roastin' in Hell, just like he deserves," the big man replied as he knelt at his brother's side and tenderly cupped one of Joe's blistered feet in his hands.

"Divine justice," the man holding her said.

She looked up and realized it was Nathan Eastwind. At the sight of the man, she burst into tears and began to shake uncontrollably.

"Hush. You are safe," he said. "Your love for Joseph brought us here in time."

Guilt racked her. Joe... Little Joe... He should be the _only_ thing that mattered. But she couldn't forget what she had done.

"I...killed him," she sobbed into the soldier's blue shirt.

"No," Nathan said, cupping her chin in his hand and making her look up. "My white brother died the day Red Pony took him as his son. If peace is possible for Many Kills, you have brought it to him."

Bella blinked back tears and looked at the ground. Hoss was cutting the last of the rawhide strips that bound Joe to the earth – the one around his neck. Joe's flesh was raw beneath it.

"Joe...?" she asked.

Hoss was drawing off his coat. He looked up at her. His tear-streaked face echoed her own.

"Alive, Miss Bella. That bastard done it again."

She looked up at Nathan and he released her, knowing – somehow – what it was she needed to do. She stepped over to Hoss and using the big man's shoulder as an anchor, slipped to the ground beside him. Once there she placed her good hand on Joe's face and leaned in, softly calling him.

"Joe? Joe, can you hear me?" Her lips brushed his forehead. "Joe? It's Bella."

Hoss gently took hold of her shoulders and shifted her aside so he could reach his brother. Gingerly, he lifted Joe up and wrapped him in his huge warm coat. Then he drew him into his arms and rose to his feet.

Again, Joe made no sound. No moan or whimper escaped his lips.

Nathan had gone to his horse. He returned with a blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders. She gave him a little smile.

"Thank you."

"I'm takin' Joe back to the camp. That there medic of yours need to look at him right quick."

The soldier nodded. "You take my horse, Bella. I will follow on foot."

Her eyes flicked to Fleet Rowse where he lay on the ground. She expected him to sit up at any minute. She couldn't believe that he was dead.

Or that she had killed him.

"Are you sure you will be all right alone?" she asked the half-blood soldier.

Nathan had turned away and was looking toward the white tombstone.

When he turned back to her, it was with tears streaming down his cheeks.

"I will not be alone."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Adam ducked and left the hide tent his father lay within. He, like the soldiers in the camp, had heard a shot. The army men were standing at the far end of the camp. Several will debating what they should do. The wind was strong and it had been impossible to tell what direction the gunshot had come from. It would be foolishness to set off into the night with no clear direction or purpose.

And yet everything that was within him longed to do _just_ that.

Haltingly, still hampered by his own head wound, Adam made his way over to them.

"Mister Cartwright," the most senior among them, a lieutenant named David, said. "I trust you are feeling better."

"Yes."

The man's eyes went to the tent. "And your father?"

He sighed. "About the same. No better. The fever is fairly high." Adam paused, almost afraid to ask. "My brother?"

Davis nodded. "Hoss went with Nathan to seek your youngest brother. Of him, there is no word yet."

"Lieutenant."

It was one of the other men. He was pointing.

Adam strained to see what it was the soldier had seen. The night was brilliantly lit by the risen moon, but that bright light also cast deep shadows. He saw movement. Then he saw two horses..

Then he realized one was Chubb.

Adam moved forward, drawn by a force that knew no stopping. Hoss wasn't alone. Before him, held in the circle of the big man's arm, was a pitiful creature. It was Joe – bare-chested beneath his middle brother's big coat, his skin ashen; his dark curls a tangle of sweat and bracken from the forest floor.

Bella followed close behind.

As he reached the horse, Hoss looked down at him. His middle brother's face was a mask. "You strong enough to take him, Adam?" he asked.

The man in black nodded and then steeled himself.

He didn't know if it was a live man or a corpse his brother had borne back to the camp. As soon as Joe dropped into his arms, he had his answer.

He could feel his brother's heart beating against his own.

"Good to see you up, older brother," the big man said as his eyes went to the medic's tent. "Pa?"

He failed to hide his scowl. "Sick. Probably pneumonia. We've got two wounded."

The big man slid from his saddle. As he moved toward Bella, he inclined his head toward their little brother, "You best put Joe in with Pa."

"What did Rowse do to him?" he asked, looking down at Joe's pale countenance.

Hoss gave a small shake of his head. He had his arms around Bella's waist and was lowering her to the ground. As her feet touched, he shifted his hands to her shoulders and held her up.

"How are you doin', Bella? You okay to walk?"

The blonde woman looked at him, then she looked at Joe, and then she crumpled. Hoss caught her before she hit the ground.

As he lifted her up into his arms, the big man said, "Looks like we gotta make that three."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Nathan Eastwind stood in the Paiute's holy place, his head bowed and his hat in his hands. Before him lay the grave of Fleet Rowse's little sister and his wife. Buried with her, was the child he had never known. The soldier stood a moment with the wind blowing his hair, and then knelt and placed his hand on the cold hard rock. Behind him the corpse of Torie's killer lay growing stiff and cold. If not for the fact that they would need to prove Rowse dead, he would leave it there to be desecrated by the creatures who walked the wild night. The madman who had been his white brother deserved no better.

And yet...

Many years ago Fleet Rowse had been an innocent boy, like Thom Parrish, who was still missing. A teenage boy abruptly taken from his family and the life he had known, proselytized and indoctrinated into one where life had little worth – turned into a monster by another monster who thrived on the death of the white men he claimed had come to conquer and destroy.

An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth.

Where did it end?

Nathan sighed as he fell to his knees before the stone, wracked with grief not only for the loss of his beloved and the baby she'd carried, but for the brother he might have had but never knew. He wondered what Red Pony would feel when he found out. From the little he had seen, he would spit on the memory of the man he had called 'son', just as he spit on the memory of the one who was his son. Fleet had been beaten. A warrior was _never_ beaten.

There was no excuse. But there were reasons.

Nathan remained with a hand anchored to the stone for some time, remembering his wife's gentle touch and her loving smile, and then he rose to his feet and turned his back.

He would never come again.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

He and Adam had been shooed out of the medic's tent. Hoss had tried to fight it, but only 'cause he felt he had too. He knew he wouldn't win. He'd been through this too many times with Doc Martin. Next to God, a doctor was the only one had the power to get things done the way he wanted. You were always afeared that if you didn't do as he said, then you'd be responsible when someone...

Died.

A hand on his shoulder made him look up. When his eyes met those of his big brother's, Hoss felt a little better. Adam was here. Adam was the oldest.

It wasn't all on him.

"How's short shanks doin'?" he asked, almost afraid of the answer.

"The medic said Joe is holding his own." Adam made a face. "He bandaged his feet. There wasn't much else he could do other than put a salve on them." Older brother's jaw grew tight. "What kind of an animal –"

"That ain't fair to animals, Adam. Rowse is – was, a man. It's men what are evil."

His brother nodded.

"What about Pa?"

"About the same. Holding his own. He's...pretty sick. The doctor wants to get them both back to the housee as soon as possible. Bella too."

"How's that little gal holdin' up? How's her hand?"

His brother looked toward the tent. "The hand is bandaged and as to how she is doing, I would say as well as can be expected. She won't leave Joe's side. She's..."

"What?"

"Quiet." Adam sighed. " _Too_ quiet."

"What's that mean?"

His brother met his gaze, his own troubled. "Bella killed a man. No matter who or what Rowse was – or what he had done – you know as well as I do, that does something to one's soul."

The big man nodded. "You talked to her?"

"I tried. She wouldn't listen. She's hell-bent on taking care of Joe and Pa and I guess we should let her. There will be time later to deal with _her_ wounds."

Hoss rose to his feet. He nodded toward the east and watched as his brother turned. Nathan Eastwind had just entered the camp. The big man waited until the soldier was at their side to speak.

"Did you bring Rowse's body in?" he asked.

Nathan nodded. "Yes. It is slung over my horse."

"I'm sorry," Adam said, expressing it for both of them. "He was evil, but I know he was your brother."

The soldier glanced at the horse on which the body was tethered. "Many Kills died many years ago. I honor the boy he was as much as I dishonor the man he became."

"Will you take him back to Red Pony?" Hoss asked.

"There are other crimes than this for which Many Kills owes. My men and I will take him to the fort where they may be accounted for by his death." Nathan was thoughtful for a moment. "But first we must see your family home. Does the doctor say they are well enough to travel?"

"He's not happy about it," Adam answered, "but he wants Joe and Pa out of the cold and he wants Doc Martin to see them as soon as possible."

"We will start at dawn then. I will talk to John and see what is needed for transport."

Hoss caught the soldier's arm. "Is there anything _we_ can do for you?"

The native's lips curled in a sad smile.

"You can mourn for what might have been."


	21. Chapter 20

TWENTY

Ben Cartwright shifted and opened his eyes. He couldn't remember ever feeling quite as weak as he felt now. The morning light was streaming in the window, which was cracked to let in the fresh air. The room was hot and smelled of sickness.

It took him a moment to realize it was he who had been sick.

As his mind cleared, the older man became aware of the fact that he was lying in bed and his nightclothes were soaked through. He could hear voices outside the room. Someone was yelling out something in a foreign language. Hop Sing. That would be Hop Sing.

He must be home.

After blinking several times to clear his vision, Ben shifted again, this time turning toward the window. A woman's slight form was silhouetted there, her profile cast against the rising light. As she shifted he saw that she had golden-blond hair, which was swept up high on her head, and was dressed in a pale blue gown.

He raised a hand – or at least he tried to – and called out, "Marie?"

The woman started at the sound. She hurried over to his side and caught his hand in her own. "Ben. You're awake!"

The name was right, but the voice was wrong. He frowned. "Marie?"

She shook her head. "No. It's Bella."

Bella.

 _Joe's_ Bella.

His heartbeat quickened. Joe. There was _something_ about Joe. The older man fought hard against the fog that enveloped him. Joe. _What_ about Joe? Why was it thinking about his youngest son brought him pain?

He tried to get up – and failed miserably. As Bella placed a hand on his chest to keep him down, he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper, "Joseph?"

"Joe's alive," Bella said softly as she wrung out a cloth and placed it on his forehead. "He's in his room."

He swallowed. His throat was dry. So were his lips. "All...right?"

The young woman tried to hide her concern, but she failed miserably.

"He's getting better. Joe's been sick, just like you."

"Better."

"Yes." Her hand brushed his cheek. "Your fever's broken at last. You need to get some rest."

"No," he breathed. "Need to see Joe."

Bella's white teeth gnawed her lip. "I know. I wish I could let you, but Doctor Martin –"

"Doctor Martin says 'no.'"

Ben turned his head slightly. A familiar form filled the open doorway.

"Good to see you awake, old friend," Paul said as he came to the bed and took a seat beside him. "You gave us all quite a scare."

He wet his lips. "Sorry."

The doctor laughed. "You Cartwrights. You have plenty to apologize for, but for the life of me I can't figure out why you think being sick is one of them!"

"How is Joe?" Bella asked. "Can I go sit with him?"

Paul nodded. "I'm done in there for the moment. He's sleeping – normally at last. See to it you don't wake him."

The girl nodded and then hastened out of the room. As soon as she did, Paul pulled back his covers and opened his shirt to reveal his chest. Then he placed a stethoscope against it. After a moment, the doctor sat back with a satisfied smile.

"The congestion is breaking up at last." His friend shook his head. "You've been a sick man, Ben. You should thank the Almighty that you are still with us."

He remembered very little. Going outside to cut wood. Being taken by Rowse. Adam coming to get him. Joseph.

Joseph.

"Paul...?"

"Save your breath, Ben. I know what you want me to say and you know I can't say it. Joe is a strong young man, but he has been pushed to the limit. First the hold-up on the stage, and then the continual torment Fleet Rowse inflicted on him."

"How...bad?"

"Standard for your youngest," he answered with a small smile. "Let's just be grateful Joe's better and let it go at that for now."

He seemed to remember his oldest son being hurt as well, but wasn't sure. "Adam?"

"I'm fine, Pa."

Ben turned to find his first son standing just inside the room. He raised a hand. As Adam came to take it, the man in black asked the doctor, "How is he, Paul?"

"On the road to recovery."

"Hop Sing has some fresh coffee in the kitchen. You look like you could use it," Adam said as he came to stand beside the other man. "I'll take over here for a while. Bella's with Joe."

"That young lady!" the doctor remarked with a shake of his head. "She should be in bed as well."

His son snorted. "She's about as easy to direct as a wild mustang."

"Don't I know it!" Paul said as he headed for the door. "She's a good match for Joe, Ben. Piss and vinegar. That's what they're both made of."

For the first time since he'd awakened, Ben relaxed.

Paul expected Joe to make it.

As the door closed behind the doctor, Adam took the cloth from his forehead. He dipped it in the cool water and rang it out, and then returned it to its former place.

"How are you feeling, Pa?"

"I could use...some water."

"Of course!" Adam poured it for him and helped him drink before settling back in the chair. "Sorry."

He wearily shook his head. "Nothing to...apologize for." Ben drew in a breath and coughed. The action hurt his sides. "Tell me...what happened."

Adam nodded. "What's the last thing you remember?"

"Rowse...hitting you."

His son reached for his head. There was no bandage, but Ben could see an angry red line running down his boy's forehead from his scalp.

"Joe ran the gauntlet, so to speak. He thought it was the only way he might escape Rowse. After they took off, the army found you and me. We were both wounded, so their medic cared for us."

"Joseph?"

"Rowse...tortured him, Pa. Joe's feet are badly burned. We're lucky Hoss and Nathan got there when they did. His hands would have been next."

Ben closed his eyes against the image of his beautiful boy being roasted like a piece of meat.

"All right?"

"Paul says he will be...in time."

The older man thought of the woman who had wakened him. "Bella?"

His son pursed his lips and paused, as if choosing what to say. "She killed Rowse, Pa. Bella saved Joe's life."

"Killed him?"

Adam nodded. "I'm afraid so."

"Is she...all right?"

Again, his son hesitated. "I'm sure she will be."

Ben remembered the first time he had been forced to take the life of another. It had been self-defense. In a way he carried the man with him still.

"Sorry..." He was growing fatigued. The words were coming harder.

"She'll heal, Pa," Adam said as he squeezed his arm. "We just have to give time, time."

Ben nodded. His own words.

And then he went to sleep.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joe heard the door open and close. He'd only just awakened and found the room empty. He'd been in and out for some time, aware of the birdsong outside his window and the breeze making his curtains billow; conscious of the sunshine streamin' in that told him not only was it late morning, but that spring had finally come. The wind, when it struck him, was warm. It eased the chill he felt without banishing it. He knew the feeling. He'd just come out of a fever, and probably a bad one.

One more time Joseph Frances Cartwright had beat the odds.

The first time he'd wakened it had been to the sound of Adam's voice, and then Doc Martin's. He'd pretended to be asleep while the doctor examined him, not feeling up to answerin' any questions. And then he'd really fallen asleep. This time when he woke up, someone was moving around the room. He could hear her skirts swishing. He knew that earlier – while he'd been sick – he'd thought that she was his ma. But it wasn't his ma.

It was Bella.

She was with him and she was alive.

 _Bella_ was alive!

"Hey, sleepy head," her beloved voice said as the swishing grew closer. Bella's lithe form leaned over him and he felt her lips, warm, on his cool forehead. As she sat down beside him, she said, "Your fever's gone. Let's hope it's for good this time."

Something in her voice told him. "I've..." He cleared his throat. "I've had more than one, haven't I?"

That little nod of her head told him a lot. "Yes. Three. Every time one broke, we thought that was the end. Then it would come again. The infection..." She stopped as if she had said too much.

"Infection?"

Bella sucked in a little breath and let it out. "Your feet. The burns..."

And it _all_ came back. Fleet Rowse pursuing him. That _devil_ catching him. Being struck with a rifle butt and slung over the outlaw's saddle half-dead. Feeling Rowse's hands pulling him off it and tossing him to the ground like a sack of meal. Having his hands and feet and neck strapped to pins driven in the ground. And the fires...

 _God_ , the fires!

Bella's hands were on his chest. "Doctor Martin said you mustn't become agitated. I shouldn't have said anything."

He was breathing hard. Sweat beaded on his brow. "My feet? Are they...?"

"Burned. Badly. But they'll be all right in time," she assured him. "They'll heal. Joe, they'll heal!"

He'd sat up. He leaned back against the pillows now, slightly ashamed. "I'm sorry. I just..." Joe scowled, not sure of what to say. "I just didn't want to spend my life...lamed."

She reached out and pushed an errant curl away from his eyes. "I know."

Joe looked at her. Bella's eyes were ringed in dark shadows. Her color was pale and she seemed...sad? He noticed her bandaged hand and wondered what had happened. Gripping the fingers of her other one, he asked, "How are you? Really."

Her lips quirked at the ends. "I'm fine," she said with a little shrug.

"Oh, dear, it's catching," someone said. They both turned to find Adam standing in the doorway. His brother looked pale, but otherwise okay. "Pa's asleep. Paul wants you to get some rest too, Bella." When she started to protest, he added softly, "Doctor's orders."

He saw her resist, think about fighting, and then give in.

"I could use some coffee," she said. "I smelled it brewing."

"You go. I'll stay."

Bella smiled at him. "Is that okay with you, Joe?"

He nodded. "Go. Get some rest. I'll be here when you come back."

She stood and then leaned over and kissed him again, this time on the lips. "I'll be back soon."

He and Adam watched her leave and then he asked his older brother. "What's wrong with her?"

Adam pursed his lips. "Bella killed Rowse, Joe. She shot him."

His eyebrows peeked toward the tangled curls on his forehead. "She what?"

"She shot him. Bella saved your life, Joe."

He was silent for a moment. "Again," he said.

Adam laughed. "You seem to need it about once a month."

It was a joke, but it fell flat. In many ways it was true.

"You think she's sorry she did it?" he asked at last.

"No. She certainly doesn't regret saving you. But," his brother paused, considering his words, "I think Bella is having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that she took a life."

Joe nodded. He remembered the first time he had to kill a man. Even when it was to save your own life, it was hard. It changed you.

Forever.

"You think she's gonna be all right?"

Adam reached over and squeezed his arm. "Give her some room, Joe. She'll come to acceptance of it in her own time."

Joe leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes.

He wondered just how long _that_ would take.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

It had been three days since he'd wakened and Ben was downstairs and in his favorite chair for the first time. Hoss had helped him to make it down the stairs and Paul said he could sit there for a few hours – and a few hours only. Hop Sing had run to bring him everything he needed – a glass of brandy, a footstool, his pipe – and he had stoked the fire to keep him from catching a chill. Bella had come down a few minutes before, stating that Joseph was finally asleep. His son was mending, but it was tricky going with his feet. Joe's pain had intensified as they began to heal to such a point Paul had been forced to prescribe Laudanum. Bella rarely left his son's side, so it was a surprise that she had chosen to sit with him now in the great room. She'd been reading, but slowly had lowered the book to her lap. Abandoning any pretense at the past time, she had given up and was staring into the fire.

The poor girl looked worn out.

Resting his hand on the book _he'd_ been reading, Ben asked, "How are you, Bella?"

She turned a pale face to him and smiled. "I'm fine. It makes me happy to see you out of bed."

He heard the unspoken end to that sentence. "It won't be long until Joseph can leave his bed too," he said softly.

Paul had told them to keep Joseph confined until the end of the week, which was three days away.

They _might_ make it.

"Fine," he repeated. "And what exactly does that mean?"

The girl frowned. "What do you mean, 'what does that mean'?"

"Well, lets see," he replied. " _Joseph's_ 'fine' has covered everything from emotional trauma to him being wounded and not telling anyone. I hope _you_ are not hiding anything."

Her frown deepened. Then, she came out with it. "Have you ever killed anyone, Ben?"

He nodded. "Yes. Regrettably."

Bella's jaw was tight and so were her fingers. They formed small fists. "That man was _so_ evil. He deserved to die! Why can't I... _Why_ can't I accept that? Why do I feel..." Bella stopped. Tears rolled down her cheeks. "Why do I feel I am no better than him?"

Ben wanted to rise. He really didn't have the strength and so he beckoned her over to his side. When she arrived, her drew her close and indicated she should sit on the footstool Adam had drawn up to the chair for him to use.

"Bella, do you trust me?" the older man asked.

She nodded.

"Do you think what you did was murder?"

The girl shivered. Tears entered her eyes as she nodded. "I killed him. I...shot him before he could get his gun out. I..."

"He had a gun."

"Yes. But..."

"Bella, what you did was in self-defense. Any judge or jury would rule it that." Ben paused, thinking of what else to say . "Do you believe in what the Bible says?"

She nodded – and sniffed.

"In Luke, the Bible tells us, ' _When a strong man armed keepeth his palace, his goods are in peace_.' Yes?"

Her blue eyes were fastened on his face. "Yes."

"You saved Joseph's life, and most likely the lives of countless others that monster would have killed if he had lived."

Bella remained silent.

"Do you understand?"

After a moment she nodded. Then she asked, "How did your wife...?"

"How did my wife what?" He assumed she meant Joe's mother.

"How did she...stand it? Ma and Pa and I, we've been living in a city. Things are hard, but not like..." She drew a deep breath. "Not like it is here."

"On the frontier, you mean?"

She nodded.

Ben leaned forward and took her hands in his own. "I know, Bella. At times it seems that everything that is not you that is here, is out to kill you. The West is a harsh mistress. It is raw and rough and barely formed, but it is also beautiful. If you give to it, it gives back –often a hundred fold."

She was looking at her hands. "It's very demanding."

"Yes, it is." He paused. "Is this about Joseph?"

The girl started as if guilty. "Ben, I love him _so_ much..."

"But?"

"I'm afraid... I don't know..." Bella looked up at him, tears in her eyes. "I don't know if I am _strong_ enough to love him when..."

"When any moment, any day, he might be hurt – or die."

She nodded. "I know life is uncertain, but, well, _here_ , it seems so much more so."

He reached out to cup her face in his hand. Looking at her, he realized just _how_ young she was. "Have you talked this over with Joe?"

Bella shook her head. "He's not well..."

"He's well enough." He released her. "Talk to him. Tell him how you feel." Ben paused. "Only the two of you can deal with this."

The girl's giant blue eyes fastened on him. "I _do_ love him."

Ben nodded. He knew she did.

But sometimes, love was simply not enough.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Bella sat at the side of Joe's sickbed, looking at him. The noon light was streaming in the open window and it gloried in the spiraling curls of his hair, turning them from brown to gold. He was sleeping and his long black eyelashes lay on his cheeks in stark contrast to his too-pale skin. It had been nearly two weeks and his feet were healing, as were the other wounds he had suffered at Fleet Rowse's hands. She'd traced the path of Rowse's anger as it was written on his wrists and ankles with her finger and as she did, was so overwhelmed with emotion that she wanted to run from the room.

She felt like a coward.

As she rose to leave, she felt fingers touch her hand.

Joe licked his lips and then asked, "Where...you going?"

Bella smiled. "Nowhere."

To her surprise, he shifted and righted himself against the pillows. "For now," he said. "But you are going. Aren't you?"

She hung her head. How could she explain _why_ when she didn't know herself?

"It's all right. I understand."

"How can you?" she snapped. "When I don't?"

Joe's fingers found hers. His precious lips curled in a slight smile. "Now, I don't want you to take my head off. Okay?"

Her jaw was tight. Of course, that's because she was fighting back tears. "Okay."

"You're awful young, you know? It's all right to be scared."

"I'm not scared –"

"Yes, you are." He paused. "You forget I was eighteen once too."

"And you are _ancient_ now, I suppose?"

His head pressed back into the pillows. "There are times I feel like it." Joe looked at her and then he asked, "Is it okay if I tell you something that might hurt you?"

She had to think about it. Finally, she nodded.

"There was this woman. I loved her." Joe paused. "I was only eighteen and she was in her thirties. Her name was Julia."

Bella frowned. She supposed she knew he'd loved other women, but it did hurt to hear Joe say it. "And?"

"She died." He drew in a breath. "Julia was murdered."

Tears entered her eyes. "Oh, how awful!"

He nodded. "Yeah, it was awful all right." Joe squeezed her fingers. "After she died, I vowed I would never love again. It was...too hard. Loving and losing."

"I don't know what you mean –"

"Come on now, Bella. We don't lie to each other. You're feelin' the same way, aren't you? That you can't stand to love me because you might lose me?" He grinned. "Heck knows how close I've come to dyin' and how _many_ times since I met you."

Her lips quirked. "You are kind of accident prone."

He snorted. " _Kind of?_ Just ask my brothers."

Bella looked down. She began to pick at her dress like she was looking at the fabric in an attempt to hide her tears.

She failed.

"You want to go home, don't you?"

 _Home._

Contained in that one word was sanctuary and security.

When she didn't answer, Joe prompted. "Bella?"

As tears slipped from her eyes, she asked him. "Do you hate me?" When he said nothing, she looked up, terrified of what she would see in his eyes.

All she saw was love.

"Heck no. I love you Bella. I always will. And whether it's as the woman I want to marry or as my best friend and little sister, it's enough."

"Really?"

"Really."

She was so torn. She wanted to be with him but, she was _afraid_ to be with him. She was afraid of her feelings – of loving someone _so_ much that she knew she would die if something happened to him.

As more tears fell, she said, "Oh, Joe, what are we going to do?"

He waited a moment and then said, "Go over to my dresser. You see that little box there. Will you bring it to me?"

She looked and saw it, and then looked back at him. "Why?"

"Just do it. Okay?"

Puzzled, she rose and went to get it. Upon returning to his bedside, she went to hand it to him, but he refused.

"You open it. Show me what's inside."

Bella frowned but did as she was told. When she saw what was in it, she gave a little gasp.

It was the silver paper ring she had sent him in her last letter.

"Hoss kept it for me," he explained. "Your letter got torn and he read it. He put the ring in his pocket when they took off to find out what had happened to the stage coach. He found it there later and tucked it away in the drawer of the table in his room."

She was staring at it. "When did he give it to you?"

"Last night." Joe smiled as he took the ring from her. "I think he thought we might be needing to pledge somethin' to each other."

Bella blinked back tears. "Like what?"

Joe reached out and slid the ring on her finger. "Well, now, how about in four or five years we check back in on how we feel?" That smile that she loved so much lit his face, bringing life and color back into it. "Who knows? By then, you might have another feller."

She didn't know what to say. She didn't know how to let him go, but she _did_ know that she wasn't ready to marry him and to commit to the life she would lead if she was Mrs. Joseph Cartwright.

Reaching out, Bella touched his face. Her fingers slipped into his hair.

"I love you, little brother," she whispered.

He caught her hand and drew her onto the bed next to him where he circled her with his arms.

"Big sister," he said as he laid his chin on top of her head. "I love you too."


End file.
